Magical Personas
by ShoredKafka
Summary: The impossible was done when Nyx was prevented from destroying humanity. Broken and warped, Nyx tears its way into another universe, determined to bring about The Fall. Arisato must see his task through to the end. In a world where a secret magical society exists, he must now do it as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. [Arisato is Harry].
1. Prologue - Souls Traded

**A/N:**

**I present to you my latest brainchild. I'm a huge fan of the Persona series, especially Persona 3, which I've played more than 10-12 times. I just couldn't accept the ending that the protagonist got. And hey presto, I had an idea for a HP/SMT crossover :D**

**Yes, I've come across The Crimson Lord's own crossover. I like it, I follow it, but I promise you this one is quite different. The universes, for one thing :P But a lot more too.**

**Thanks for reading :)**

Dark blue feathers fluttered around them as they stood, bleeding but defiant. He looked upon Nyx, standing mightily in the backdrop of the moon. She - was it a she? He could not tell, for the voice was distorted, even as it spoke to them at that moment, utterly confident despite the damage it had taken.

"_**You struggle in vain,"**_she intoned, and her mighty wings cut through the air as she drew them around around her, and the Moonless Gown adorned her black figure once more. He exhaled once, and tightened his hand around Lucifer's Blade to stop it from shaking. Metatron loomed to his left, his body peerlessly sculpted armor, his wings of steel thrumming with energy as his golden robe fluttered about him.

"**At the breach we stand, and His fire shrouds my blade. Stand strong, my master. Tis almost at an end."**

He nodded at his persona, only to be interrupted by the harsh, grating of another entity standing at his other side. An overwhelming smell of brimstone assaulted his nostrils as Beelzebub floated besides him.

"**All this fightin' getting me all fired up! That arrogant bitch thinks she can cause more carnage than the mighty Beelzebub? We'll rip her face apart."**

He smiled slightly, amused as he always was by Beelzebub's speech despite the seriousness of the situation. A third entity stood at his front, the vanguard of his attack. Shiva towered over him, and now glanced back upon hearing the talk.

"**Be silent, you putrid fly. **_**I **_**wield the right of destruction. **_**I**_** decide when the world must be renewed once more. This upstart seeks to usurp me? My eye will burn down her arrogance."**

He sighed, looking at his comrades as they healed themselves and the others. They could not see the by-play, his personas were seen by him alone. Already he felt like his head would shatter, his body exacting punishment from him for manifesting multiple personas at once. He accepted the punishment, but did not let it control him.

"Humanity called for Nyx," he said, knowing they needed to hear something - anything to bolster them for what would be the final push. They looked at him, panting hard, Iori resting on one knee as he struggled to regain his strength.

"Thanatos told us that Nyx was beyond comprehension. That nothing could stop her from carrying out her task. Yet here we are, forcing her to use all her strength. Humanity may have called Nyx. But that is precisely why we will not fail today. If humanity has the power to bring her here, it also has the power to send her back."

His voice never rose, remaining as calm as if they were merely at the mall. But he forced all his conviction in his words, feeding it to his teammates. It worked, as the spark in their eyes got a little brighter. Their hands grew a little steadier. Their knees trembled a little less.

Together, they charged at Nyx one last time.

"_**The time has come," **_boomed Nyx as a crimson light emanated from her, the power already pressing on him a little. He stumbled, but kept charging, Lucifer's Blade thrumming with delight as he channeled his power.

"_**All shall perish."**_

How could one be everywhere at once? It was a phrase he had always pondered, unable to understand the implications of it. He knew that the mind was an endless sea of potential. How else had he manifested beings of such incomprehensible power? And yet the idea of a being not being located had never seemed plausible to him.

And yet, nothing could better describe his current existence. He remembered his friends, how they had made the final push that shattered Nyx's form. He remembered how he had been drawn to Nyx's very core, even as his friends shouted and tried in vain to get on their feet and pull him back. He remembered the chrysalis of golden light that had awaited him.

He remembered the terrifying feeling of helplessness as he threw everything he had at it, to no avail. Metatron, Shiva, Beelezebub. Eventually they all faded against the assaults the chrysalis laid on him, and he fell to his knees as the terrifying words Thanatos had spoken to him finally sunk in.

_Nyx cannot be destroyed._

He had been ready to give up then, his hand letting go of his blade, which seemed to melt into nothingness. The golden light shone before him, defiant in its existence, taunting him with his failure.

"_Don't give up! We have to believe him!" _came Akihiko's voice, reaching him even in the heart of darkness.

"_Take my life if you must!" _cried out Mitsuru. The girl who had shown him what it meant to love, while he had showed her what it meant to live.

He gritted his teeth and stood shakily on his feet, only to be struck down yet again by a wave of deathly energy.

"_He's not alone! I won't let him die!" _came Iori's voice, strong with determination. Even as he lay close to death, a small smile flickered across his face. This was the same Iori who had been jealous of him, who had resented his power. When Iori had finally made peace with himself, he had emerged a hundred times stronger for it.

He stood again, now glaring with fierce determination at the golden light.

"I will not fall," he had told the pulsing chrysalis, speaking for the first time, even as a great power overwhelmed him, his instincts telling him what had to be done. Even as his friends cried out their support, he pointed a single finger towards the very heart of Nyx.

"If you will not die, I will seal you," he had said and unleashed the newfound power within him in torrents, seeing only a blinding blue light before all was dark.

Now, where was he? He had known that sealing Nyx would cost him his existence, at least existence as he knew it. He still existed, his memories, his personalities. But where was he? He had given up on finding an answer long ago, resigned to the feeling of just...existing forever. It was an empty feeling.

"Makoto Arisato," came a voice, and a great power seemed to rush through his surroundings. Where there had once been everything and nothing, there was now the Velvet Room once again. He was sitting upon the dark blue couches, and before him sat Igor, who looked the same as ever with his long nose, bulging eyes, and pointed ears.

"You abided by the contract you made with me. You took responsibility for your actions," he said with his peculiar voice, studying him as if he was a fascinating specimen. Then again, Igor had always looked at him that way.

He simply looked at Igor. There had been no questions, only statements. There was nothing for him to say.

Igor looked at him for a few more moments before cackling with laughter, "I see you have not changed."

Still he held his silence. Igor grinned widely, exposing immaculately white teeth. He began to speak once more.

"Your contract is considered completed. Your task, however, seems to have undergone...complications."

At this he sat a little straight, a questioning look in his eyes, "Have I not sealed away from the world. She cannot approach it any more."

Igor spread his arms expansively, and for the first time he noticed that Elizabeth was not in the Velvet Room, as she always was.

"There is a small problem with what you said. Nyx can no longer approach _your _world, you see."

He raised an eyebrow, but stopped any protests. The past year had convinced him of the existence of the seemingly impossible, if nothing else.

"Yes, I see you have arrived at the answer. There are other worlds."

"And Nyx has chosen another?" he asked, his voice now tense. His sacrifice now seemed meaningless.

Igor seemed to have divined his thoughts, for he raised a white-gloved hand in a placating manner.

"Your efforts were not in vain. You sealed away a majority of Nyx's power. She is no longer the exalted being she once was. But her consciousness still exists, and she is still bound to her task."

"To answer the call of death," he completed, his voice now expressionless.

"Indeed. But now she cannot force her will upon any world. Now she must move in the darkness, speaking gilded lies and empty promises. She must bend men to her will and have them accomplish her task for her."

He frowned and steeped his hands together, another line of thought occurring to him.

"You brought me here now, when it seems as if you could have done so at any time. There must be a reason. What is it?"

Igor's smile dimmed, and his pose seemed to draw in a little. "No, not at any time. The only reason I can do so now is using the weakness in the structure that Nyx left when she tore through."

"The weakness in the structure of _what?"_ he asked, confusion lacing his tone.

"Why, do you not remember what I told you when you first came here?" asked Igor, and his voice was now playful, "Between dream and reality. Mind and matter. That is where you have been since sealing Nyx away. And that is what she used to reach another world."

"You wish for me to go there," he said, as realization dawned upon him. Igor dipped his nose sharply, and spoke with a sad tone.

"Your old world is lost to you now, my friend, and you and Nyx are still bound together by destiny. But beyond that, you now have an opportunity before you. Will you take it?"

He thought for a moment, and realized there was nothing to think about. He thrived around social links, even though he seemed to be cold and detached to most people.

"I will. I am not accustomed to leaving tasks half completed," he said firmly, and stood up.

"Excellent," smiled Igor and he too stood, "You will retain your personas, but the Velvet Room will not exist in that world. Nor do persona wielders, aside from yourself. Whether it stays that way depends on you."

The needle of the clock above them suddenly began to go haywire, moving at speeds his eyes couldn't even follow. For the second time, he felt something rush through him, and the world dissolved before his eyes.

**(A/N: Death refers to the embodiment in Harry's world, Thanatos refers to Makoto's persona. Easy way to distinguish between them)**

Now he stood in what appeared to be a deserted train station, though this looked much different from the subways he had seen in Japan. A hooded figure stood before him, its skeletal fingers clasping a gleaming scythe.

**You are not supposed to be here** it said, it's voice giving away nothing.

Before he could say anything, a persona pulled at him from within his mind, wanting to be released at that moment. He obliged, and Thanatos emerged from the sea of his soul, floating in front of the cloaked figure. It did not stay in its usual form, however, but immediately morphed into an identical form of the cloaked figure.

His eyes widened, and he realized that he was standing in the domain of this world's Death.

**An aberration has entered this world. The balance will be disturbed** said Thanatos, speaking to the cloaked figure.

**The balance is broken even now with his presence **replied Death, showing no visible surprise at seeing another version of itself.

**Do not feign innocence. You see what he is. He is no mere human. Besides, we have a way of doing this without upsetting the balance, do we not? **said Thanatos, waving his fingers. A small portal appeared before them, and he beheld a small, black-haired child curled up and sleeping in what looked to be some sort of closet.

**He was to be Master of Death. I have waited long for one as worthy as he will become** retorted Death, and now its voice was laced with anger.

**Do you not see the person before you? **challenged Thanatos, stepping closer to Death **There is already a Master of Death here. **_**My**_** master.**

Death stood silent for a while, and then spoke again **Very well. The aberration must be erased. Destruction cannot happen out of child is already close to death by starvation. I was merely...refusing the call.**

Death reached out his hand, and it seemed to move through the portal effortlessly. He grasped something from within the boy and pulled, before withdrawing his hand. The portal faded.

"Where am I?" said the boy weakly, now awake and standing before them. He looked at the boy's starved frame, his emerald eyes, and what appeared to be a lightning shaped scar on his forehead. Thor stirred in his mind as he beheld the scar.

He knelt before the boy, knowing that neither Deaths were capable of explaining the situation to a child.

"You are dead, child," he said, and then mentally hit himself. Perhaps one of the Deaths would have done a better job after all.

The child's eyes widened, "B-But why? I did everything Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said. I-I washed the dishes, did the lawn…"

His eyes flashed with anger as the child continued to list his labor. The number of things he detested were very few. These relatives sounded like one of them.

"It is nothing you did wrong," he said gently, "But now you have a choice. You see, you were alive because you had something really important to do. But you can go and see your parents now, if you like. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

The boy's gleaming eyes looked up at his, radiating both fear and hope, "B-But what about the really important thing?"

He smiled thinly at this, knowing that this had been what Thanatos had suggested. "I'll do it for you. You deserve to see your parents."

The child moved suddenly, and he found himself clasped in a weak grip as the child cried.

"Now now," he said hesitantly and patted the child's head.

"I-I wanna see my parents," came the child's voice, muffled from being pressed into his chest.

"You will," he said and looked at both embodiments of death. Both raised their hands simultaneously, and a train chugged into the station, gleaming magnificently. Two people stepped out from the train. The first was a man, dark haired and bespectacled. The other was a beautiful red-haired woman, her eyes the exact shade of Harry's eyes.

"Go to them," he said, and watched as the boy hesitantly walked towards his parents and took their hands. They climbed onto the train again, and the train began to move slowly. "THANK YOU!" came the boy's voice, and then the train was gone.

He sighed turned around, only to find that Death had disappeared. He was alone with Thanatos now.

"I suppose it's time," he stated, and Thanatos dipped his head.

**The child's body held a poisonous soul leech. I have removed it. That is all I can do now, my master. You will succeed. Now, it is time for you to go.**

And for the third time, the world spun around him once more.

He came into awareness once more, and this time, it was a truly disturbing feeling. His body felt so weak, so incapable. The days he had spent strengthening himself through swordplay and exercise seemed like a dream now, as he lifted bone-thin arms into the dim light that shone above him.

The air smelled of must, sweat, and tears, and his clothes seemed to be meant for someone three times bigger than him. Even as he pushed himself into a standing position, his muscles protesting as he did so, a loud voice rang throughout the house.

"BOY! GET OUT OF THERE AND MAKE BREAKFAST OR YOU'LL GO WITHOUT FOOD FOR A WEEK!"

"I've had warmer welcomes to a new universe," he muttered, smiling thinly to himself as he opened the door and guided himself to the kitchen. Things would begin to change, and they would change soon.

**Yep, this was just a prologue, even though it came to nearly 3k words. For the actual chapters, I'm shooting for a much bigger word count per chapter, but we'll see how it goes.**

**Oh, if you don't know about the entities like Metatron or Shiva, well, use Google. It's not that hard.**

**Review please!**


	2. Chapter 1 - The Fool

**So, this was a quicker update than I thought it would be. Shorter than I expected too. I figured I would do the introductory parts in quick succession, and really focus on the meaty parts of the story. First, some responses:**

**Why is there romance? Because I feel my interpretation will benefit for it.**

**Why do the personas talk? I feel it makes them more interesting. Mythology is fascinating, and to be able to call on these mythological beings is amazing. To not explore them is a serious waste, in my opinion.**

**You're a Hermione fan? You might be disappointed. I don't have much bashing in store for her, nor will I give her prominence. She will just not be an important character here.**

**Arisato isn't going back to level 1, speaking power-wise. Once he starts improving his body, he will be capable of some very serious summons.**

**Harry's overpowered? Well give me a break. This is end game Arisato that has entered HP. He may be overpowered now, but I have some interesting twists in store. I'll be hinting at one of them in this chapter.**

**Read and review.**

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><p><em>How do I know this? <em>he wondered, as his feeble hands darted around the kitchen, fetching the ingredients he would need to carry out the orders of the piggish man who had yelled at him.

_I see two explanations. I have been given his memories. No, I do not remember anything other than this body's name. Then...could it be muscle memory? Did that child do this so often that his body reacts on instinct?_

A wave of anger coursed through him, and the demons in his mind howled and snarled, begging for release. Begging to tear away at the ones that would so treat a child. But no, he denied them. It would not do to act without any knowledge of what was happening around him.

The world was much like his own, of that there seemed to be no doubt. He was in England, a place he had known the basics of, in addition to the English language. But he needed more information. What was the power that seemed to be coursing through the veins of this body? Why was it so reminiscent of…

"YOU'RE BURNING THE SAUSAGES!" shrieked an ugly woman, before his vision exploded into a million stars, and he fell to the ground, his head pulsating from the saucepan she had just hit him with.

_Wait _he ordered himself as his many entities screamed for release. Pain was simple. Pain was something he had seen a lot of during his battles. Burned, frozen, shocked, poisoned, and so much more. He rose from the floor, muttering a meek "Sorry" before moving back to the stove, even as he assessed the damage to his body. His head throbbed, and every movement sent pain through it. But it was unlikely to cause lasting damage.

_This body is too weak. First, some nutrition. Then, I summon a persona that can scout for information. I will have to steal the food_ he decided, and did so carefully, using sleight of hand to slip small pieces of the sausage, and some bread into his oversized pockets. The woman said little else, apart from glaring at him constantly while sitting at the kitchen table.

Thundering sounds reached his ears and he sighed, realizing that the pig-like man was ready to eat as well. But then he frowned slightly when the steps didn't sound like those of a single man.

_That sound could only be from a sounder of swine, not just one_ he mused wryly, the pain now almost gone _don't tell me…_

His worst fears were confirmed when he saw a miniature pig run into the room, greedily grabbing at his mother's breakfast now.

"Now now Duddykins," crooned the woman sickeningly, "Eat as much as you want."

"Freak!" she snapped, glaring at Harry, "What's taking you so long?"

"Gotta keep beating the freakishness out of him," grunted the man-pig as he picked up his newspaper, while the child-pig laughed at the thought before continuing to demolish the food on the table.

"I am," sniffed the bony woman before pouring herself some coffee.

_Freakishness? This world may not have Persona wielders yet, for Thanatos told me so. But this suggests their own brand of the supernatural. These are the boy's relatives, not his parents. Could he be part of this supernatural circle? But why then would be not be with one of them?_

With nothing but the faintest of words as a clue, he turned back to preparing the breakfast, and sneaking some away from himself. He would need it for the next step. And perhaps, if luck was on their side, his relatives would survive it.

* * *

><p>Teeth ripped cheap meat apart, his tongue cried out in bliss and his stomach wept a little less as he gorged on the food he had stolen early in the privacy of his cupboard. It was late in the night, and he finally had his privacy. It was Sunday, and the people in the house had feasted and indulged in slothfulness all day, though they seemed to take their commitment to beat him quite seriously.<p>

_Not quite enough to beat the freakishness out of me, I'm afraid _he thought amusedly, thinking about when Pharos had been sealed into him. Months of combat had given him a strange ability to detach himself from his pain. Or had he merely accepted it entirely? He could no longer tell.

"This much nutrition should suffice for one mid-level persona," he muttered out loud. He no longer had his evoker. But when had he truly needed it? He, who had walked with death for so long?

**I summon you from the sea of my soul, the fifty-fifth spirit of the Shemhamporash, the guardian of knowledge, Orobas!**

He smiled slightly as his persona shimmered into being, even as his knees buckled as his energy was drained. The fierce demon looked down at him, it's equine face studying him impassively.

"**To think I would find you thus, my Master," **it said solemnly as he sat shakily on the floor, his legs able to support him no more.

"You know why I called you," he said, his breath beginning to come in short pants. Summoning one persona hadn't affected him this badly since he had first called out to Orpheus.

"**But of course. The guardian of knowledge must know. The entity born of your soul must know."**

His lips twitched slightly in response to that, "I suppose you're right."

"**You have not the power to give in recompense for all you seek. But I will set you on the path, yes. Knowledge to begin this journey will be yours."**

It reached out with its hand, eyes glowing with power, and placed it on his head. Even as the knowledge rushed into his head, millions of images and words tearing their way through his min, his vision began to fade. The last words he heard were

**May fortune favor you, my master.**

And then he knew no more.

* * *

><p><em>This has been happening far too often<em> was his first thought when he was pulled out of unconsciousness yet again. He stood and stretched a little, his body having recovered a little from the rest.

_I see. So this world has wizards. Entire societies of them, hidden away from...the term was Muggles, yes? _he mused to himself as he left the cupboard and reached the kitchen early, intending to cook himself something quickly before the rest of the family would awaken. With an idea of where to start, he could no longer allow the status quo to continue.

A few minutes later, he had eaten and quenched his thirst. The darkness began to lift from his eyes a little more. Now, it was time to begin. With his knowledge, he knew that he had a far greater chance of improving his physical condition using the potions that these magical people had created.

But first, he would need an illusion. And he knew one persona that was within his power to call forth at the moment.

"It's been a while, Taraka," he said, once the summoning was completed.

"**So it has, boy. Although you're a child now, aren't you?"** teased Taraka. The female yaksha was capable of changing her form to just about anything, which made her exactly what he needed at the moment. At the moment, she was in the form of a bewitchingly beautiful woman.

"**What do you need me to do?"** she continued. He furrowed his brows slightly.

"I will not be able to keep you summoned the entire day. Take my form and wait until the three people in this house assemble here. Cast a persuasion charm on them, making them send you out for the entire day. Then, you may disappear. I will be back in the evening, and they will be none the wiser."

Taraka nodded her head in understanding. Seconds later, he found himself looking at an exact copy of himself. He nodded to her and left, pausing to take some change from his uncle's overcoat. He took only enough for a bus to London, an amount small enough that it was unlikely to come to his uncle's notice.

_I sincerely hope Orobas' skills haven't gone faulty. Who on Earth names an establishment The Leaky Cauldron? _he wondered to himself as he found the bus he needed. Were all British people so strange? Or was it merely these wizards that were strange?

* * *

><p><em>Yes. Wizards are definitely crazy<em> he thought to himself as he looked at the ramshackle establishment that was supposedly the gateway to the wizarding core of London. Strange smells leaked out of the establishment, making him wrinkle his nose. It surprised him to see that none of the normal Londoners seemed to notice the smell.

_Perhaps the rest of London must smell similar_ he shrugged to himself as he tentatively pushed open the door to the inn, entering a dimly lit, smoky parlor. It was, he was rather relieved to kind, rather quiet, despite the multitude of wizards that were crowded around the tables. They muttered to themselves as brooms cleaned by themselves, pots refilled themselves, and stools arranged themselves.

_Oh yes. Crazier than that drunk monk Mutatsu__******_ he remarked to himself as he walked towards the innkeeper, intent on adding on to the information to add on to what Orobas had given him.

"Aren't you a little too young to be in here alone kid?" asked the hunchbacked man behind the counter, roughly, but not unkindly.

"I just need to get into Diagon Alley. My parents will meet me there soon, they told me I could go ahead and look at the stores!," he exclaimed, trying to sound as earnest as he could.

The man's face softened, and he moved from behind the counter, gesturing to Harry as he did so.

"Well, there's a trick to this, you see," he explained as he stopped in front of what appeared to be a blank wall, "But you'll need a wand before you can do this on your own. My name's Tom, by the way. Nice to meet ye kid"

Tom drew what appeared to be his own wand, and tapped certain bricks on the wall in a pattern. He watched closely, making sure to memorize the pattern. His eyes grew wide as the bricks began to tuck themselves away in a bizarre manner, revealing a street bustling with activity.

_Now this is a sight to see_ he thought appreciatively as he thanked Tom childishly before walking into the Alley, taking in every sight he possibly could. Even the Tower did not prevent him from being surprised by the many sights he saw around him.

_But first, this bank called Gringotts. Orobas made quite a point of sending me information about it. No strategy without finance, I suppose _he mused, thinking back to the many materials he had bought, sold and forged to keep his teammates well-equipped and well-supplied.

So engrossed was he in his past memories that he ran into the person before him, who stumbled forward with an indignant sound. With a start, he looked up to see a young girl with blonde hair and startlingly blue eyes. Eyes that were, at this very moment, trying to glare at him with an intensity that he had only seen before in Mitsuru.

So shocked was he that he forgot to apologize immediately, which had only made the situation worse, as she glared even harder, if such a thing was possible.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she ground out venomously, "Do you make it a point to shove people around and not apologize?"

He shook his head and lowered it slightly, even as two adults came up behind her. He assumed they were her parents.

"Forgive me, I was lost in thought. Stumbling into you was unacceptable, and not apologizing immediately even more so. I really am very sorry," he said, keeping his head down until he was finished.

When he looked up, he blinked when he saw that the girl was no longer glaring, instead looking at him amusedly.

"I've never seen an apology quite like that," she said, and a hint of a smile appeared on her lips. Her parents appeared to be similarly amused. With a start, he realized that he had been speaking as a Japanese teenager, instead of a British child. He would have to be more careful with his mannerisms and speech.

"I guess my own reasons are pretty unique as well," he said, smiling slightly. He had just spoken the truth, but oh, how little would these people realize just how much truth there was to it.

"Well now, an apology has been made and all is well," boomed her father, a burly man who nevertheless radiated a sense of eloquence and nobility.

"And the boy is so cute, you must forgive him Daphne," said her mother, smiling, looking like an older version of her daughter.

"Mother!" exclaimed Daphne, looking horrified, while his own eyes widened, though in disbelief. The lady thought a half-starved child to be cute? Although, he had to admit that Harry Potter had eyes that were of a beautiful green color. He still had not completely come to terms with the idea that the body was now his, as was the name.

"I'm Daphne Greengrass. This is my father Damien Greengrass, and my mother Isabela Greengrass," said the girl, once the look of horror had faded from her face, "What's your name?"

"Harry Potter, pleased to meet you," he said, resisting the urge to bow as he spoke. He was surprised when a look of shock and disbelief came across the face of all three people, and they looked at him as if they were seeing a ghost.

_Why? _he wondered, searching through the information Orobas had given him.

_Oh_ he realized when he came across the fact that Harry Potter was famous in the wizarding world, for surviving a killing spell of some sort as a baby. His parents had been killed in the attack, and that was the last the wizarding world had seen of him.

_I've grown careless. I should have fully ingested the information. But I never expected this identity to have such significance _he groaned internally, while projecting a look of confusion on his face. This child would not know of why he was special, having never been around this kind.

"Um...is everything okay?" he asked them timidly. The question seemed to pull them out of their shocked daze.

"That scar…you really are Harry Potter. Why didn't I notice it before?" muttered the man to himself, while Daphne's face was now switching between disbelief and curiosity.

"Damien," chided Lady Greengrass, "You are making the boy feel uncomfortable."

"What? Oh, yes. Forgive me. May I call you Harry?" asked the man, and he nodded immediately. Ceremony was one thing he would never willingly stand on.

"You seem confused, Harry. Don't you know why we seem so shocked?" asked the man. Harry Potter did not know. So he shook his head, channeling confusion into his emerald eyes.

"How is that possible?" demanded Daphne, looking at him suspiciously.

"Um...could you please tell me why you know me?" he asked Lord Greengrass, ignoring Daphne for the moment.

Lord Greengrass sighed, and motioned towards Gringotts, "It seems you were heading in that direction. May I explain along the way?"

He nodded and began to walk at Lord Greengrass' side as he heard about the Dark Lord, about the thirteen years of terror, about his parents, and finally about how he had defeated the Dark Lord before he could even speak.

_That certainly qualifies as special. Now the next question is, why would this special child be sent to an abusive home, far away from his heritage?_ he wondered.

"Um...sir…" he said hesitantly, "Why did I grow up with people who beat me? I never knew about any of this before now."

Lady Greengrass' eyes widened in surprise, "What do you mean you were beaten?"

He pulled his small frame in even further to look as if he was frightened, and replied, "I-I live with my uncle and aunt. They beat me and made me do chores every day. I-I didn't even know about magic until a little while ago."

"What?" exclaimed Daphne, looking furious.

"Daphne," said Lady Greengrass firmly before turning to Harry, "They told you nothing at all about your parents? About the magical world?"

"N-No. They just called me freak all the time."

"Bastards," hissed Lord Greengrass just as they reached the steps leading to Gringotts.

"So how did you find out about the magical world?" asked Daphne curiously, ignoring the goblin guards who were glaring harshly at everyone.

"Strange people would walk up to me and know my name. I thought it was really weird. One of them shook my hand a few days ago, and he happened to mention the Leaky Cauldron. I was tired of living with my relatives, so I thought I would get away and come here," he said meekly.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked them nervously, his eyes darting from one adult's to the other's.

The Greengrasses looked at each other for a few seconds, before turning back to him and shaking their heads.

"I suddenly cannot recall anything you told me," said Lord Greengrass, looking around the main lobby of Gringotts nonchalantly.

"It's good that you decided to start with Gringotts," smiled Lady Greengrass, "Your parents were one of the few clients they truly respected, I believe. They will help you in many ways."

"Well then, Harry, we have to attend to our business now," said Lord Greengrass, stopping near a teller's desk, "Good luck. Your parents were not close friends of ours, but we certainly respected them. Send me an owl should you need help."

"Goodbye Harry," said Daphne, and for the first time, her face was a little soft.

"You'll meet Daphne again soon, I suspect," said Lady Greengrass, "She starts Hogwarts this year, and so will you."

He smiled at the family, and nodded at Daphne. As they walked towards their teller, the Empress personas within him shifted faintly, as if resonating with something. _Perhaps I have begun to find allies_ he realized, as he turned away from them.

For the first time, he really looked around at the goblins. Despite Orobas' information on them, he was still startled to see such beings walk the Earth outside of the Dark Tower. One of the desks did not have a client at the moment, and the goblin sitting there reminded him suspiciously of Igor.

He walked towards that desk, and spoke to the teller, "Excuse me, do you have a moment?"

The goblin looked up with a scowl on his face, a scowl that lessened slightly when he realized that there was only a small child before him.

"What do you want, child," he growled.

"I-I was told I could find out about myself here," he said, making sure to maintain eye contact with the goblin. Something told him he could not afford to be caught with a lie here.

"You know nothing of yourself? Not even your name?" asked the goblin, this time disbelievingly.

"My name i-is Harry Potter," he said, now beginning to feel irritated at having to play the part of a child.

The snarled softly for a moment and stood, beckoning to be followed.

"The Potter family has always had a Senior Accountant to help them. I hope for your sake that you do not lie, child. Helmsbane is not sympathetic to liars."

He said nothing, choosing instead to study the tunnel that they were walking down. There were very few wizards here, and a lot more goblins. Despite the many people bustling around, the tunnel was quiet. Soon, they arrived at a heavy, plain-looking door.

"Please, go inside. If you are indeed Harry Potter, your questions will be answered. If you're not...well…" the goblin left the sentence hanging as it departed, leaving him standing at the door alone. He knocked.

"Enter" came a low voice and he walked in, only to find an ancient-looking goblin sitting behind a simple desk. The goblin looked at him through suspicious eyes that rested on his forehead, and then moved to meet his own.

"You have your father's face and your mother's eyes. You have the scar left to you by the Dark Lord," he stated.

Nothing was said. After a moment, the goblin continued, "Appearances, however, are quite often deceiving." Here Helmsbane picked up a wicked looking dagger, looking at it almost lovingly.

**(A/N: He'll be referred to as Harry, in the interest of the universe he's in. But it's still Arisato under there)**

Harry - he had to accept that name now - smiled internally at the goblin's theatrics. He had no doubt that many full-grown people would be afraid by now, so he let an appropriate amount of fear shine through on his face.

"Will you take the test of blood, boy?" asked the goblin, now looking back at him, "Prove to me that the Potter blood runs in your veins."

He nodded resolutely, knowing that this would be the first significant move he would be making in this world. Nyx would lie dormant, but he could not afford to. The Potter family seemed to influential in this strange world - a world which seemed to be a cross between nobility and democracy. Should his family have resources, they would help enormously.

He took the dagger, making sure his hand trembled a little, before making a small cut on his palm. He held his hand over a yellow piece of parchment that Helmsbane held out, watching as a few drops of blood fell upon it.

He watched, fascinated, as the pool of blood on the parchment began to split off into dozens of thin lines, gliding through the parchment as if with a mind of their own. Soon, the lines began to stop, and the blood curved and flowed to form writing at the center of the parchment.

_Harry James Potter_

_Age: 10_

_Blood: Half-Blood_

He sighed in relief when the test proved to have positive results. He was about to speak again when he realized that the blood was still moving, crafting two words that almost stopped his heart.

_The Fool_

The silence that followed was deafening. Suddenly, Helmsbane began to laugh, the guttural sound echoing through his chambers.

* * *

><p>The room was luxuriously decorated, and the lighting dim. Servers moved expertly through the room, ensuring that their clients were kept comfortable. There were very few people in the room that night. One of the most noticeable patrons was a man with long, blonde hair and silver eyes. He held a goblet of wine in his hand as he talked in soft tones with his companion.<p>

His companion presented a much more disagreeable visage. With a heavily scarred face and a constant scowl marring his mangled features, his face was a stark contrast to the gaudily wealthy clothes he wore. He too held a goblet in hand, though he seemed to ignore it for the most part.

The scarred man was frowning as he spoke, "Are you sure the Minister alone will suffice, Lucius? The man has the spine of a flobberworm. Will we not be better off cementing our position with more people in the Ministry?"

A darkness moved through the shadows, silent and unseen. It prowled the room, looking for the perfect host, just as it had prowled the city for so long. It neared the blonde man and halted, as if studying him. Just as the man was about to speak again in protest, it entered him. Tendril by tendril, maliced thread by maliced thread, it began to influence him.

"_**The moment man devoured the fruit of knowledge, he sealed his fate."**_

"Lucius! Are you alright?" asked the scarred man as the blonde man suddenly slumped in his chair, his eyes seeing but unseeing.

"_**To find the one true path, one must seek guidance amidst uncertainty."**_

The blonde man suddenly sat back up, his eyes alert once more.

"I'm fine, Nott," he said smoothly, "Merely considering your idea. And you're right. Our guidance of wizardkind cannot depend on one man. The masses will need to be led on the right path. We will find more people in the Ministry."

"_**Eternity awaits."**_

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><p><strong>Orobas <strong>- Fifty fifth spirit of Hell.

**Mutatsu** - A character from Persona 3

**Well, what else is there to say? Till next time. REVIEW!**


	3. Chapter 2 - Satan's Scale

**A/N:**

**Short again. My apologies for that.**

**Right. A lot of people are asking me how Arisato can be this weak. Simple. His mind – his consciousness/soul/awarenesss – is what holds his personas. Hence he still has them. However, he is currently in the body of a** **malnourished, abused, nearly-eleven year old****. The description speaks for itself. He still needs to provide the ****energy**** for his summons. Hence, he must first train his body to a decent level. Which will happen at its own pace.**

**Anyways, here is the next chapter. Read on.**

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><p>Harry kept his face impassive as Helmsbane continued to laugh gutturally, unsure of what to expect. The wizened old goblin seemed to be as unpredictable as Igor - He was unsure as to whether that was a good thing or not.<p>

"The parchment is not in the habit of commenting on the status of a person's intelligence, Master Potter," said the goblin, still chuckling as he spoke, "So would you care to tell me what this is about?"

He would not tell anyone, at least not yet. And certainly not someone he had only known for a few minutes.

"I have only just found myself in the Wizarding world, master Helmsbane. All I know of it is that I am famous in this world. How could I explain this when you could not?" he said smoothly, looking the goblin in the eye.

"Indeed," said the old goblin blandly, merely looking at him for a few seconds. He looked back comfortably. Few were as comfortable with silence as he was.

"Very well. In any case, your identity is confirmed, master Potter. What would you have of your Account Manager?"

He dipped his head for a few moments, trying to delineate all his needs. He would start with the most pressing ones.

"Can you offer me material on the Wizarding world? How its society works, how its politics works, everything of importance."

Summoning Orobas too often would be a strain on his mind if he did not meditate and absorb on it every time. He was better off working with books. The ghost of a smile reached his lips as he remembered how he and Mitsuru would devour books at a frightening pace, each challenging the other to excel.

"We can, and we will. There are ten books that should give you sufficient grounding. Would you like to purchase them?"

He cocked his head to one side, realizing that this was the best time to ask another question.

"I have an account manager. That is a certain level of personalized attention, and not granted to many. What is the status of my family's account here? I would like to know of my assets."

Helmsbane nodded, "That is good thinking. I would have been most disappointed if you had made purchases without being aware of your finances."

He raised one eyebrow at the goblin, "You were testing me, weren't you?"

The goblin didn't even bat an eyelid, "Perhaps. We Account Managers serve loyally. We also like to expect certain standards from those we serve."

He smiled slightly, "An acceptable view to have. Now, the information please."

Helmsbane nodded and reached for a drawer, pulling out a sheaf of documents, "I have not been able to do much with your accounts since the demise of your parents. I kept on the investments they had already made, but it is not in my power to make new investments without permission. Nevertheless, your accounts are healthy."

He accepted the papers that were handed to him. Unlike most official documents, which seemed to delight in being nigh indecipherable, these seemed to be easy to read.

"Not bad, these were actually written with the intention for people to understand it," he muttered and the old goblin grinned ferociously.

"Only for select clients," he grinned, "You should see some of the documents we draw up for the pureblood supremacists."

"Who are they?" he asked, a little absently, as he continued to read through the papers.

"Purebloods are those who have a magical inheritance from both parents. The name of course refers to what they think that status gives them. They tolerate the half-bloods, who are partially of magical blood, and look down on first-generation magic, which they term mudbloods."

He paused in his reading and absorbed the information. It seemed to resonate with some of the information Orobas had given him. "This Dark Lord…" he began to ask when Helmsbane interrupted him.

"They were his supporters," confirmed the goblin, "Though most managed to avoid being sentenced with a combination of money, blackmail and power."

_Ah yes. Tanaka's realm of speciality_ he thought to himself, remembering the unlikely connection between him and the strange businessman. He finished going through the documents and looked at the goblin.

"As I understand it, my family vault has 20 million galleons as well as various artifacts and heirlooms. My trust vault has 1 million galleons. I must use my trust vault until I reach my majority. Which is when, exactly?"

"You case is unusual, master Harry," said the goblin hesitantly, "Magical children reach their maturity when they are seventeen. But you are the last surviving heir of your family. I believe that means you may claim your full rights when your teenage years begin."

"When I am thirteen, then," he stated, and the goblin nodded.

"I don't want to stay with my muggle guardians until then," he said, and here he affected some emotion, "They are...unfit guardians."

The goblin's eyes narrowed, "Unfit, you say…" his eyes raked over Harry's body once more, this time taking in the scars and lack of nutrition, "Indeed. Well, in this case, you may thank the pureblood faction. They absolutely refused to allow muggles to legally adopt a child of wizarding lineage. In other words, your relatives have no hold over you here. However, you must still have a guardian in the magical world. It would satisfy the law and allow you to find more...hospitable accommodations."

He frowned at the reply, which made things both easy and difficult for him. How would he able to select a worthy guardian when he knew nothing of the wizarding population? And he certainly did not want to return to loving relatives. He thought back to the only family he had met, the Greengrass family.

The situation was not ideal. But his insight into people rarely failed him, and all three members of the family had seemed honorable.

"How soon must I find a guardian?" he asked the goblin.

"You are soon to be eleven, yes?" asked Helmsbane, and continued when he nodded in the affirmative, "Then it must be at the soonest. You will soon be receiving your Hogwarts letter, and enter the wizarding world publicly. Besides, many would take the chance, if offered. It would be a valuable deal to make."

"How would taking in a eleven-year-old child be valuable?" he asked, confused.

"Firstly, your reputation as the Boy-Who-Lived. Their own would be greatly enhanced by association. And secondly, your family is a Noble one, and therefore has seats in the Wizengamot. Wizarding parliament," Helmsbane hastened to add when he saw him looking even more confused, "Meaning your guardian could wield those votes with your consent."

He nodded, making a note to obtain more information about this parliament. If he had the resources, he would be foolish not to use it.

"Is the Greengrass family still present in Gringotts?" he asked the goblin.

"I will find out," replied the goblin, "Would you like to invite them here if so?"

He nodded in the affirmative, "Politely, please."

"It will be done," said Helmsbane, before summoning an aide and barking out a series of instructions.

"Now then," he said, turning back to Harry, "What else do you need?"

"Healing must be advanced here, I presume," he said, thinking of the Diarahan spell, which he couldn't yet cast.

The goblins frowned, "In some ways. Muggles are more advanced in others. You intend to restore your body?" he asked astutely.

"We goblins are quite advanced in brewing potions. It is one of the few avenues left to us after we were prohibited from carrying wands," continued Helmsbane, sneering as he mentioned the ban.

"Then I will take the potions, as well as those books. I trust the prices are reasonable?" he asked.

"I will see to it personally. You will be priced fairly," assured Helmsbane, just as the Greengrass family entered the room, looking very curious.

"We were requested to come here?" asked Lord Greengrass cautiously while looking at Harry.

Soon, the Greengrasses were settled down, their eyebrows rising steadily as they heard Helmsbane explain the situation. Finally, Lord Greengrass turned to him.

"You wish for us to be your legal guardian?"

He nodded sharply and turned his chair to face the Greengrasses, knowing he would have to be honest about his reasons.

"Yes. You're one of the few families I've come across in the wizarding world. From what I can see, you appear to be honorable. And I would like to get away from my relatives as soon as possible."

Lord Greengrass' mouth quirked in a smile as he heard the reasons, "You shouldn't be so quick to trust, Harry. Wizarding society, especially noble wizarding society have created masks to wear like no other."

"Why do you wish to leave your relatives so badly?" interjected Lady Greengrass, looking confused.

He sighed, hating the fact that he would have to use dramatics. He had told them, but perhaps they believed his accounts to be the over-exaggerations of a child. The only way to truly convince them was to show them. He stood and wriggled out of his oversized shirt, allowing them to look at the front for a while, before turning and allowing them to see his back.

"Bastards," hissed Lady Greengrass, while the others in the room looked murderous.

Mottled bruises covered a large portion of his body, as well as scars, many of them remarkedly old. He allowed them to look for only a few seconds before pulling his shirt back on. Playing on sympathy was not something he liked to do, though on this occasion he had to.

He turned to look at them again, schooling his face to be impassive, "I believe this explains my urgency, Lady Greengrass."

Lord Greengrass nodded along with his wife, his eyes now pensive.

"I have also been told that I can be of help to you, with my status and family seats. I will be happy to oblige, within reason, in return for your kindness."

Lady Greengrass scowled, her beautiful features marred, as she said, "That will not be necessary. We always assumed you had a magical guardian, and that they would be informed when you spoke to Gringotts. We never expected that you wouldn't have a guardian. We will be honored to act as guardians for you. _Won't_ we, dear?" she asked, her voice sharper than the edge of a sword.

Helmsbane looked on amusedly as Lord Greengrass hastened to agree with what his wife said. Harry felt amused as well, watching both mother and daughter glare at the father. The poor man stood little chance. He shivered a little, reminded of when all the girls in the dorm would glare at Junpei after he made an inevitable perverted remark.

"Yes, yes, of course," said Lord Greengrass, turning to look at Harry, "We stay neutral on most issues, you see. But no, despite the backlash this might cause, I will not have a child sent back to an abusive home."

Harry smiled. It was his first true smile since he had arrived into this universe, and his emerald eyes sparkled. Then, he turned to Helmsbane.

"Can you help me formalize this, Helmsbane?" he asked his account manager, and received a firm nod in reply.

"There are Ministry employees who are in...interesting positions with regard to their bank status," said the goblin, his smile now turning vindictive, "I will encourage them to formalize this within tomorrow. Lord Greengrass will merely have to sign these documents."

"You have the documents already?" asked Lady Greengrass, looking surprised.

Helmsbane tried to look modest, an expression that looked out of place on a goblin's face, "All account managers try to prepare for every eventuality. We do have plenty of space for the documents."

"I can imagine," said Lord Greengrass dryly as he signed the documents and handed them to Helmsbane, 'I believe this is all you require?"

Helmsbane nodded, putting the documents away.

Harry looked at the family that had taken him in, "Thank you once again, Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass."

He suddenly found himself being impaled by a glare.

"Now, that won't do, Harry," said Lady Greengrass sweetly, a dangerous glint in her eyes, "As part of this family, you will call us Damien and Isabela. _Won't_ you?"

He felt himself freezing under the glare, and hastened to nod in compliance. Daphne giggled at the sight.

"That will be happening a lot, just so you know," she informed him. His eyes widened.

What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Stuart Rogers fearfully as the blond man swept into his office. It was unusual to see him in the Department of Magical Transportation, and even more unusual when he didn't go straight to the ministry.<p>

"Clearly," said the blonde man in a silky, dangerous tone as he sat down without waiting to be invited.

"A-Are you sure you don't want to see the minister?" asked the deputy minister nervously, beginning to sweat noticeably.

"Which office am I in, Rogers?" asked Lucius, staring coldly at the deputy minister.

"R-Right. How can I help you mister Malfoy?"

"You can stop wasting my time and get this approved," said Lord Malfoy, placing a sheaf of parchments on the polished table.

Stuart's eyes widened in alarm as he looked at what was written in the papers.

"B-But...this is nothing short of treason! It breaks every rule in the Department!"

"Hence this amendment, after which it will be government procedure, and not treason," snapped Lucius, standing to tower over the frightened employee, "I suggest you do it in stages. Slip the smaller ones to your Minister when he's signing papers in a hurry. When he's signed enough of them, he'll have no choice but to sign the big one."

"I-I can't do-"

"How is your wife, Cynthia, Stuart? And your child. Just turned two didn't he? Shame if he didn't live to turn three."

Lucius walked away without waiting for an answer. He knew what Stuart would do. The bill would be passed within a year.

As he strode down the busy ministry corridor, his eyes became clouded, losing their sharpness.

_**Yes**_ whispered the voice in his head _**More, more and more.**_

_**Eternity awaits. We must have control soon.**_

Lucius walked briskly to the next unfortunate soul's office. There was much work to be done.

* * *

><p>"Ah yes...I've been expecting you, . I remember when your parents came here for <em>their<em> first wand."

Harry found himself face-to-face with the weirdest man he had ever met, and when the list included Igor, that was saying something. The male looked at him eerily for a few seconds before turning around and hobbling behind the counter, already pulling out long, slim boxes with startlingly precise hands.

"Don't worry dear, Mr. Ollivander's always been that way," whispered Lady Green- no, Isabela behind him while Daphne looked around the store with a bit of awe. He had looked at her, first, before rattling off the exact specifications of the wands her parents held. Harry had found the experience amusing. Until, that is, those pale orbs had turned on him.

"I'm feeling nostalgic already," smiled Damien as he brought up the rear and closed the door to the shop.

"Ladies first, if you please," called out Ollivander and Daphne nodded before stepping before the counter. His eyes widened incredulously when a tape roll began to take measurements by itself, starting with the distance between her eyebrows. He also noticed that Ollivander was paying no attention to the measurements whatsoever.

"Ah...here we go. Eleven inches, rosewood, strong and rigid, with a core of a single kelpie hair. Give it a go."

Daphne picked up her wand, and immediately the counter split in half, leaving a cloud of dust in the air.

"Perhaps not," muttered Ollivander as Damien waved his wand and cleared the air.

"Try this one. Twelve inches, hazel wood, and the core is composed of unicorn hair."

Daphne picked the wand up, gingerly this time, the nearby vase of flowers froze and shattered.

"Interesting," muttered Ollivander, "Perhaps one of the more foreign cores…"

The man disappeared into a corridor behind the counter, and it was nearly a minute before he came out again.

"One of the few of its kind. I once experimented with crushed Wendigo teeth. Fine core, but not very suited to the English, I found. Gregorovitch uses them widely. Now then. Blackthorn wood, twelve inches, unyielding."

Daphne picked her wand up, and a blue glow erupted around her, even as the wand emitted silver sparks.

"I am happy to have found it an owner," smiled Ollivander, "That wand will serve you will, Miss Greengrass."

Daphne almost skipped back to the rest of the group, beaming as she cradled her new wand.

"How befitting," said Damien, smiling widely as he congratulated Daphne. Harry wondered why, but before he could ask, it was his turn.

"Now then, Mr. Potter. Let's start with this, shall we? Thirteen inches-"

**No.**

Suddenly, his aura flared out wildly, and he felt himself being lifted into the air as one of the more powerful entities in his mind struggled to make himself felt.

"_No, I cannot yet summon you_," he thought urgently, even as his frail body's energy began to drain.

**To pass judgement have you come to this world.**

He grunted as his right arm was forced up.

**To restore the scales of balance is your purpose.**

His palm opened and turned, as if waiting to receive something.

**Then you shall BECOME judgement itself. **

His palm began to shimmer, as if something was trying to manifest itself out of thin air. He gasped as he felt his energy fall until he was nearly spent.

**All of judgment falls within my domain.**

A dark scale manifested itself in his hand, radiating enormous power.

**I am Satan. Wield judgment through me, my Master.**

He fell to the floor as the possession left him, his consciousness already starting to fade.

"This will be the core of my wand," he whispered before the world turned dark.

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><p><strong>Concluding Notes: I know I haven't explained a lot of things. Like Lucius' possession. But patience. All in its proper read.<strong>

**Review. Review. Review. I won't know what you think unless you review.**


	4. Chapter 3 - Titania Dances

**I am not abandoning this story.**

**There, with that out of the way, I have to tell you guys that December was a very tough time for me. There were things I needed to work through, and my creative energy was almost non-existent. Which led to this very long gap between updates. I'll just say that from now on, I will be updating more frequently.**

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><p>It was a very annoyed Harry that woke up, only to find himself in an unfamiliar bedroom.<p>

"I really need to bring this body up a few notches. I can't afford to keep fainting after most summonings," he muttered to himself as he examined his surroundings. The furniture was stamped with what he recognized to be the same symbol that had been on Lord Gree- Damien's robes.

_It must be their house_ he thought to himself as he slid out of the bed, noting with faint embarrassment that his clothes had been changed while he was unconscious. Almost simultaneously, a small creature appeared before him with a pop, with ears that seemed to have a life of their own.

"Master Potter be up. Prim be letting Master and Missus know. Sir must please follow," it squeaked, its chest puffed out as if it were a royal stewart. He followed the miniature creature with some amusement as it led him through the house. The corridors he went through were brightly furnished, without random artifacts cluttering them. He did note that there were various portraits, and a few of them appeared to be moving and speaking.

_This is one weird world_ he thought to himself as he watched a portrait in which a man appeared to be talking animatedly to a tree stump. Prim stopped and he almost ran into...him? her? _Her_ he decided, after thinking back on the voice. The creature knocked on a door, and motioned for Harry to enter.

"Thank you, Prim," came Damien's voice, upon which Prim bowed and disappeared, leaving him to walk into the room, where Daniel was looking at him with a disconcerting focus.

"What was that creature?" he asked curiously, partly out of discomfort at the look he was receiving.

"Ah, that was a house elf," said Damien, appearing to snap out of his line of thought, "Most old wizarding families will have one, you will find. In fact," he said, and walked towards a large desk, where he noticed a small wrapped package sitting, "Gringotts sent someone over with the books you requested. They've been shrunk down. When you wish to read them, just call for Prim and she will enlarge them again. They also sent nutrition potions. Once in the day, and once in the night for a month," he said, handing Harry the package.

He raised his eyebrows at how light the package was. Magic was proving to be quite useful, he was beginning to regret not exploring the possibilities outside of combat with his personas. He put the package in a pocket he found on his robes as Damien motioned for him to sit down.

"How long have I been unconscious?" he asked Damien, rather confused to see Gringotts process his request so quickly.

"Almost two days now," said Damien quietly.

"Ah," he said, understanding dawning on him. He groaned internally when Isabela swept into the room, followed closely by Daphne. He was in for quite a long conversation.

"Harry! Prim told us you were awake. How do you feel?" asked Isabela worriedly.

"I'm fine now. A little hungry," he admitted as his stomach reminded him of that fact, quite loudly.

"Oh! How rude of us," said Isabela, before calling for Prim and arranging for some soup and bread.

He sighed as all three members of the family proceeded to look at him expectantly. There was clearly no way around an explanation, though perhaps that was for the best.

"Where would you like me to begin?"

"The unearthly voice followed by the appearance of a magical artifact that sent Mr. Ollivander into a frenzy of excitement appears to be as good a place to start as any," said Damien, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.

_So it is_ he thought to himself amusedly. He settled himself into a comfortable position in his chair, anticipating a long period of explanations.

He wasn't wrong.

* * *

><p>Lucius Malfoy sat alone in his study, hunched near the fireplace as he retched repeatedly. His skin was unnaturally pale, and his entire frame seemed to have shrunken over the past few days. With trembling hands he tried to lift himself up, only to fail and fall on the floor again.<p>

He screamed when the voice returned - the voice that had mercifully left him alone for the last few hours.

_**This container will not hold me for much longer.**_

"No…" whimpered Lucius, curled up on the floor, praying for help to come. But help would not come. He had set up the privacy wards in his office. The voice had made him. Help would not be coming, at least not for a good long while.

_**Mankind called for the end. I am the bringer.**_

The dry racking increased in intensity, forcing Lucius' body to go into convulsions as he desperately tried to gain control over his body.

_**The call for death is too weak here. I will help them fulfill their destiny.**_

The convulsions increased in frequency, and Lucius' eyes began to slide backwards into his head, on the precipice of losing consciousness.

_**Until a suitable vessel is found, I will divide myself and strengthen the call.**_

Blood began to seep out of Lucius' eyes as he let out one final, tortured scream before succumbing to unconsciousness. Even as his vision faded, dark miasma began to pour out of him.

The miasma pooled around, and even as it did so, Lucius' breathing became more regular, and the relief was visible in his body. As soon as the miasma stopped flowing, it began to break itself apart into numerous pieces.

Slowly, the clusters moved away in different directions. Even as they moved away, the face of Lucius Malfoy twisted itself into what was unmistakably a smile.

_**Soon, the call will sound.**_

* * *

><p><em>Three days later<em>

He sighed and put down the book he was reading, allowing himself to properly absorb the information. It had taken a three hour explanation, followed by him summoning Orpheus to convince the Greengrasses that he wasn't a delusional maniac. Setting fire to a nearby chair with **Agi** had perhaps contributed as well.

He still had not told them about him not being of this world. As far as they were concerned, he had discovered his powers five years ago, and was indeed Harry Potter. Which, for all intents and purposes, he really was. That was one explanation he would most likely not share with anyone. After all, even he had no clear idea as to how exactly he had gotten to this universe.

He began a series of workouts he had developed while in the Kendo club, thinking about the past three days. Lord and Lady Greengrass had mostly left him to his own devices, telling him that they needed time to talk through what he had told them. He didn't blame them for that.

To his intense amusement, Daphne had taken to observing him from what she obviously thought to be good hiding spots whenever he went outside his room. He wondered if she wanted to see more examples of his power. The curiosity in her eyes certainly seemed to suggest as much, though he also caught a hint of uncertainty in her demeanor. Nevertheless, he trusted his senses as he always did in these situations, and remained silent. She would approach him when she was ready.

The potions he had been given were miraculous in their effort. While his own abilities allowed for rapid healing or removal of ailments, none of his abilities had entered into the realm of nutrition. And yet here were potions that were rapidly compensating for malnutrition, to the extent where he could already begin to feel the effects after only three days. Now was the best time to begin honing his body.

_My eleven year old body _he had to keep reminding himself. He could not push it very far until he was a little older, which meant he could no longer count on his sword fighting skills as much as he used to. To compensate, he had already begun to read up on magic.

He had begun with magical theory, though Daniel had told him it was one of the toughest fields of all. It had been the same with his personas. First he had spoken to Igor to learn all he could about Personas. By the end of his questions, even the normally stoic keeper of the Velvet Room had a faint look of exhaustion on his face.

Unfortunately, he had no such expertise at his disposal this time. Not many magicians attempted to look into the theory behind magic, preferring instead to record laws based on phenomenological experience. And these were far too specific for him to draw conclusions about magic as a whole. But then he had come to the author who went by the nom-de-plume Ignatius. Daniel had the author's book _Insights into Magic _in his library, though he himself had not read it.

"_In all my years, I have rarely come across something that dislikes being bounded as much as magic does. People try by the dozens to formulate laws that help them understand this capricious force. Even more phenomena arise that defies these laws. I have come across them myself. _

_With such experiences in hand, I propose that there are only two fundamental requirements that magic expects: focus and energy. Focus is achieved in multiple ways. Wands, incantations, staffs, and crystals are a few examples of focus. Focus involves the focus of energy, which is the second requirement, but more importantly, the focus of imagination and intention. To create a bowl of soup, one must be able to visualize the soup. One must be able to imagine the flavor they wish to impart to the soup. And one must be able to will their energy to follow their focus. Indeed, the premise behind wandless magic or silent magic is that the caster's focus is honed well enough to dispense with incantations or wands._

_The second requirement is, of course, energy. All magical beings have a core of magical energy that they can channel, and which replenishes itself over time. This raw energy is directed by focus that the magician employs to make the desired effect possible. Beware of exhausting your core, however, for when the core is absolutely empty, you may never regain the use of magic again. Indeed, the uncrossable barrier that is death may remain so solely because no being is shown to possess the energy capable of breaching it."_

This was what he needed - a foothold from which he could grasp what magic meant in this universe. He had to admit, it made sound sense even when it came to his own ability. Personas were only limited insofar as his own imagination was limited. And he could summon as many personas as he wished, if only his body had the energy for it.

Finding this nugget of information had taken him three days. Now, he had begun with Transfiguration, fascinated by the potential it held. Offensive and defensive spells did not concern him much at the moment. Even in his weakened state, he had a range of options at his disposal. But this field was like nothing he had encountered before. The closest he had come to this field was the crafting of weapons by imbuing them with personas.

He stopped as his routine came to a close, taking a few moments to recover his breath. His weakness continued to shock him, all the more so because he had never been so weak in his own body.

Just as he picked up the book to resume reading, there was a small knock at his door.

"It's me," came Daphne's voice, "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"

"Come in," he said in measured tones and marked the book before laying it aside. He smiled slightly at Daphne as she opened the door and walked inside, and waited for her to speak.

It became apparent within a matter of seconds that Daphne would not speak easily. She looked conflicted, though her face hid it well. But conflicted by what emotions? Even he could not tell. She had admirable control over her face despite being so young. He knew then that he would have to do something to make her feel more at ease.

"Would you like to take a walk?" he asked her, making her snap out of her thoughts hastily.

"A walk?" she asked him, confused.

"Yes, a walk," he reiterated, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "You have a beautiful garden, if what I see from my window is any indication. And I haven't explored it yet."

She blushed slightly for sounding as confused as she did and nodded, prompting him to stand up and follow her out of the door.

The garden thrummed with the feeling of peace and security. Though he had only suggested it as a means to put Daphne at ease, he found himself enjoying it nonetheless. It bore the signs of being attended to with remarkable diligence and care. They were now at the center of a garden, where there was a rectangular structure. Stone benches were scattered throughout the clearing, while tall hedges formed the boundaries. Statues were arranged in different points throughout the area.

"My mother always said this place represented the inner Greengrass," said Daphne softly after a few moments.

He remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"Being a Noble family means that we cannot be ourselves in public. Especially since we are of a small faction, under constant pull from both sides. We must constantly be guarded. Never revealing our true emotions or thoughts. Always distant. Always cold," she continued, and he could sense the sadness in her tone.

He frowned. Why did her tone have the tinge of experience to it? Why did her words seem to outstrip her age?

"You speak as if from experience," he said. The tone conveyed the question, though the form did not, "How is that possible?"

Daphne laughed lightly, but the tone was bitter, "Most children begin to receive instruction in these matters when are eight or nine. We learn. We have to learn."

His face grew stony, and she must have noticed it, for she hastened to add, "That's not to say it's my parents' fault! They're kind and loving. They want me to have all the moments of childhood I can."

His anger abated, and he realized that it was not so different from what Mitsuru had to endure. Growing up before her time, always presenting an impeccable facade in public, always having to excel, and never a moment for weakness.

"It's the environment," continued Daphne in a slightly tired tone, "I've only been exposed to a small portion of what my father and mother face on a daily basis. But it's still tiring. Speaking formally. Dressing formally. Even birthday parties become events where little children try to play the parts of their parents."

Her voice trailed off into silence, and stayed silent for a few moments. Then she shook her head rapidly and spoke again, this time sounding a little more cheerful.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to go into such detail. You're very easy to talk to," she said, smiling slightly.

"So I've been told," he replied with amusement, thinking back on his previous high school life.

"Anyway, what I want to point out is this," she said, gesturing to a statue that was at the center of the retreat - he decided it was a retreat, it was the only word that sprung to his mind. He narrowed his eyes, reading the fainted inscription at the base of the statue.

"Titania."

"This garden is one of the few places where we can drop the facade. My mother used to tell me stories about the faeries. And I loved it. I loved what Titania represented. Calmness. Serenity. Power."

He began to realize why she was telling him all this.

"I...I would very much like to see her."

He turned to look at her, and saw a desperate eleven-year-old girl who needed - for lack of a better word - some magic to happen in her life. To realize her childhood at least in this one fleeting manner. His answer was chosen for him long before he was consciously aware of this fact. It was one word.

"Persona."

Power flooded through his body. Warm, yet cool. Dignified, yet playful. Powerful and independent. Flowers blossomed in the hundreds around him, and the smell of spring hung scintillatingly in the air.

She floated in the air with crystal-clear wings, her green dress moving gently in the breeze. Golden hair flowed in tresses, dressed with flowers of the spring. She was beautiful and fleeting - the very essence of spring.

"Beautiful," whispered Daphne, an awe-struck look on her face as she drank in the embodiment of her childhood heroine. He began to move away from the retreat slowly, ensuring that he had used enough power to keep Titania embodied for a good while.

It had been a while since he had last used his personas for anything other than battles.

* * *

><p>The book spun slowly in mid-air, the product of his first ever magical exercise. The principal was quite similar to casting spells through his personas, though in that case he was wielding their power through his energy. Now, he had to channel and focus his own power. Something about this body made that easier, and he realized that his magical core was quite large.<p>

_Finally, an advantage to his this body _he mused to himself. He was jerked from his thoughts when he suddenly heard the unmistakable roar of a large fire. He stood and walked out of his room with some speed, concerned that something was wrong.

_It came from the study, I think_ he thought as he walked briskly in that direction. He neared the door, only to find the door open, and excited noises coming from inside.

He was greeted by the sight of what looked like a miniature Daphne, surrounded by Greengrass family. He sighed in relief, realizing that nothing seemed to be out of place.

_Wait._

He looked at the young girl again. Soot and ash on her dress, standing directly in front of the fireplace, around which the rest of the family seemed to have gathered. Her hair also seemed ruffled.

_No. It can't be._

_These people can fire travel. Of course they can fire travel _he deadpanned to himself _That or she got caught in the chimney._

He was about to withdraw to his room when Isabela noticed him and called out to him.

"Harry! Excellent timing. Come here, I want you to meet someone."

He founded himself being regarded by curious, bright blue eyes as the young girl turned her attention on him.

"Tori," interrupted Daphne brightly before Isabela could say anything, "Meet Harry Potter!"

He waited silently as the girl looked at him, first with doubt, then with shock as her eyes landed on the scar on his forehead. He chucked slightly when the girl let out a high pitched squeal before burying her face in her mother's arms.

"Daphne! You know your sister too well to do that," scolded Isabela, even as she fought her own smile. Daniel had no such inhibitions, and laughed heartily, only to squirm seconds later under Isabela's glare.

He shot Daniel a look of understanding and sympathy before turning his attention to the girl, who still wouldn't look at him.

"Hello-" here he stopped short and looked at Isabela, realizing he still didn't know the girl's full name.

"Astoria," smiled Isabela, "Though she prefers to go by Tori."

"Hello Tori," he began again, eliciting a giggle from the child.

"Hi," she replied shyly before dashing out of the room.

"You'll have to forgive Tori," said Damien, his tone humorous, "She's eight years old and filled to the brim with stories of the famous boy-who-lived."

He blinked. _Boy-who-lived? _

"The title **is** rather eccentric," said Isabela, laughing at the disconcernation on his face, "Now, I have to go and help Tori unpack."

"She was staying with a close family friend," explained Daphne.

"Right, time for dinner I think," said Daniel cheerfully and beckoned for them both to follow him to to the dining room.

Soon, the entire family sat at the dining table, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as he watched the family interact over dinner. The envy soon turned to nostalgia, however, as he remembered the various times his friends - no, his family - would behave similarly.

Towards the end of the dinner, he was distracted from his memories by a small nudge to his ribs. He turned to his left, only for Daphne to flash him a mischievous smile before turning to face the rest of her family. He watched with faint alarm, a feeling of impending doom starting to weigh down on him.

"Father, mother, don't you want to know what I did today?" she asked her parents, the very picture of innocence.

_Ah. This is going to be problematic_ he thought to himself, but kept silent. Despite his better judgment, he too wanted to see how the Greengrass family would react.

"Of course, dear. You don't usually tell us about what you do," said Damien genially, reaching for another helping of dessert.

"Well, I studied French for a while. Then I continued reading on Wizarding etiquette. I spent some time writing a letter to Tracey. Oh, and I talked to Titania," she finished, adding the last part almost as an after thought.

"Excellent, excel-" Daniel choked in the middle of his sentence as the full impact of what Daphne said struck him. Isabela seemed to be struck silent in shock, while Astoria just looked confused.

He watched the spectacle in concern as the unnatural silence continued anticipating the floodgates of speech to be thrown open at any second.

"You...you spoke to Titania," said Isabela in a faint voice.

He frowned. Perhaps floodgates had been too strong a word to use.

Daphne merely nodded cheerfully and continued eating.

"WHAT?" exclaimed Damien, having finally stopped coughing. That seemed to snap the rest of the family of the daze, and a torrent of questions began to rain down.

He sighed in satisfaction and turned his attention back to his own plate. He had chosen the right word after all. The rest of dinner was a lively affair.

* * *

><p>"I'm too old for so many surprises," said Damien twenty minutes later, his voice still slightly shaky as he poured himself a drink in his study. They were alone, as Damien had asked to have a word with him. He had gone along, wondering what the reason was.<p>

"Now. First of all, I apologize," said Damien, holding up a hand when he made to speak.

"You might not think we have anything to apologize for. But we _have_ been trying to keep a distance from you for the last three days. Even though we're wizards and live surrounded by improbable things, what you said still threw us off balance."

Here he sipped his drink, before continuing, "But we almost forgot to look at what you were as a person. Isabela and I pride ourselves on being fair judges of character. And yours seems to be a good one. If a bit secretive," he added, laughing slightly.

He blinked in response. That had indeed been the predominant opinion about him for a while.

"Of course, three days isn't a lot of time. I reserve the right to change my opinion," said Damien, with a completely serious face. Only his eyes gave away his mirth.

"Well then, that's all I wanted to say," said Damien, sounding faintly embarrassed.

"Thank you," he told Damien as he stood to leave. Just as he did so, an owl flew into Damien's study, dropping a package on the table before swooping out just as quickly.

"That handwriting…" frowned Damien as he looked at the spidery scrawl on the package. His frown turned into a smile as he looked up at him.

"I do believe it's your wand, Harry."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Not the best way to end a chapter, but I really wanted to put something up. A fairly slow chapter, but I want to ensure I allocate enough time to character development. Forming bonds is an inseparable part of the Persona games after all.

**Reviews are fuel. The more I get, the better.** That is all.


	5. Chapter 4 - The Game Begins

**Author's Notes:**

**There's been a lot of confusion about why Nyx is behaving this way. Firstly, understand that this is AU, so I've taken some liberties with the characters and the system.**

**Secondly, no, I don't think Nyx is evil. It is an entity fulfilling a purpose. But, to make a reference to the matrix, what happened when Agent Smith was no longer part of a system? He had to create his own purpose. That is what Nyx is trying to do here. Arisato was an anomaly - one that prevented it from carrying out its designated task. It's broken. It's never known defeat before. It's slowly becoming warped.**

**Review if you like it, or have any suggestions.**

* * *

><p>"So," said Pixie brightly, "What do you think of the decorations?"<p>

He stood there, looking at the chaos that was rampant around him, determined not to lose his stoicness. In his time, he had seen raging infernos of fire. He had seen beings split the earth with a mere step, and had looked upon the Avatar of Nyx itself. Nothing he had seen, however, had prepared him for the sight that now greeted him.

It had begun when Daphne had suggested Occlumency, out of curiosity to see how it would work with his own unique powers. He too had been interested at the prospects it offered. To visualize his own mindspace - his conscious mindspace at least - was an opportunity that interested him greatly, and he had taken the relevant books from Daniel without delay.

He already possessed the pre-requisite. The book required him to find an inner stability - something he had long possessed by nature. The second requirement was for him to possess considerable mental focus - the exercise suggested was to focus on one thing until he could do so to the extent where others faded into the background. This exercise was to be increased until he could apply this selective focus to multiple things.

The second requirement had taken him immediately to his martial experiences. There were many times when he had felt such a sense of focus. It would be when he faced a particularly challenging enemy or group of enemies. The twitch of a limb as it readied to attack, the slightest shift on deformed faces as a spell was about to be chanted, the grimace on a comrade's face that signaled the need for a healing spell - they were all visceral experiences, felt by deep instinct in such moments of heightened focus.

The third step required him to cut off all external stimuli and direct this honed focus deeper and deeper within his own mind. This he had never tried before. Somehow, he had always possessed a reluctance to venture deep into his mind. When he had learned of the Sea of Souls, he had read into psychological theory and philosophy. There wasn't exactly a book that dealt with Persona users, so beyond a point, he had to form his own conclusions, as his preference always was.

The unconscious provided him with the ability to fuse personas - an ability channeled through the Velvet Room somehow. It explained why his personas looked the way they did, had the personalities they did, and behaved the way they did. It had surprised him when he had first fused Hermes. It had looked nothing like the Hermes that Junpei possessed. His was more in keeping with the Greek ideal, and possessed a comedian's wit while Junpei's had looked like an action figurine, and spoke little.

The sub-conscious was presumably the Sea itself, where all his fused personas would reside until called upon. That made his conscious the part that a Persona would occupy when he summoned it. That was when he would channel the persona, and when the persona's emotions and personality could affect his own. That was the point of symbiosis that he would use so often in battles. In a second he would go from being a teenage boy to an entity so ancient that even its mind felt alien. It was this part of the mind that he would have to enter, arrange and fortify through Occlumency.

His mind was bizarre, even by his standards. It looked as if every persona that he had ever summoned had left some sort of mark in it. Even as he stood in his mindscape, wondering where to begin, he felt an entity call for his attention, wanting to be summoned. Curious to see how it would work in a mindscape, he answered the call.

Pixie materialized before him, her face as cheerful as ever as she surveyed his mindscape.

"So," said Pixie brightly, "What do you think of the decorations?"

* * *

><p>"They are not going to be around for much longer," he said, before moving his head to dodge what appeared to be one of Hermes' shoes that was flying around at will.<p>

"Why? It looks fun like this," pouted Pixie, before trying to hit his shoulder. He barely felt the impact of her tiny fists.

"Because ordering it to my liking will be beneficial to me," he said simply, before focusing on his mindscape. The entirety of his chaotic surroundings disappeared, leaving only white space that seemed to extend everywhere. There was no ground and no gravity. It simply was.

"Well that's selfish," muttered Pixie, surveying the now sterile surroundings with a bored eye, "You can't be forgetting that you share this real estate with us, buddy."

"Do I now," he deadpanned as he continued to ponder his choice for his mindscape, wondering whether it would be suitable.

"It's too simple, you know," said Pixie haughtily, and rolled her eyes when he looked at her in mild surprise, "We see what you see. Your memories are ours too. You never wondered why we never seemed surprised by our surroundings when summoned?"

No, he had never thought about it. The answer seemed obvious to him, now that he thought about it. He also felt violated. If they truly possessed his memories…

"Yep," said Pixie, a wicked smile on her face, "We know all about those..._intimate _moments you had with that redhead. She's a good kisser isn't she?"

He chose to ignore her as well as the faint blush that rose to his cheeks, choosing instead to think on different ideas for mindscapes.

"Ooh, that one, that's good," commented Pixie as yet another idea crossed his mind.

"Really? Tartarus?" he asked her doubtfully.

"Why not? You can control everything about your mindscape if you wish. Time, gravity, space, matter," she elaborated.

"Indeed. It also looks like you were right after all," he said as he thought about how he would divide his memories.

"About what?" asked Pixie curiously.

"You do share my memories. You would not sound so smart otherwise," he said with a straight face.

"Meanie!" yelled Pixie, kicking his cheek.

He moved his face idly, his plans for his mindscape almost complete. The only thing left was…

"Whoa. Hell of an idea you just had," said Pixie, looking at the devilish glint in his eye.

"Will it work?" he asked her.

"I don't see why not," she shrugged, before shuddering slightly.

"I pity the person who tries to enter your mindscape…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said innocently, before gathering his focus once more, "Now then, let's get started…"

* * *

><p><strong>A few hours later<strong>

He opened his eyes slowly, his body responding sluggishly after having been still for so long. He found himself looking at Daphne's clear blue eyes, mere inches away from his own. Several seconds passed, with neither of them moving. Unable to think of anything else to do, he raised an eyebrow.

"Eep!" exclaimed Daphne and threw herself away from the bed, where he had been lying down, her face pink with embarrassment.

"I-I was just checking to see if you were alright. You've been like that for a few hours now, and you didn't seem to respond to anything," she stammered, waving her arms in an attempt to justify her actions.

"I was working on setting up my mindscape," he explained, getting up and wincing as his muscles protested the sudden movement.

"You've already reached that stage? Father only gave you those books a week ago!" she asked him incredulously.

"My ability has to do with the mind as well. Some aspects of it made this a little easier," he told her. It was the truth, and yet vague enough that he did not give away much. She nodded, accepting his explanation at face value. A few moments later, her face filled with excitement.

"Oh! I completely forgot why I came here! We got our Hogwarts letter!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining, "Yours is downstairs too, I think the owl came to us when you were acting like the undead.'

He rolled his eyes, but could find no good retort for what she said. She smiled at the small victory and pulled him up from the bed, dragging him with surprising strength.

"Come on! Mother wanted us to open our letters together," urged Daphne.

He did not resist, and went willingly downstairs to the living room, where Isabela was doing her best to keep Astoria away from the two letters on the table.

"The letters are not for you Astoria," said Isabela, exasperation clear in her voice, "Now sit down!"

"I want my letter," muttered the young girl before stalking towards a chair with a pout on her face.

"And you will get yours soon my dear," said Daniel lightly, before spotting him, "Ah, you're here. I trust Daphne didn't rush you too much?" he asked with an amused tone.

"For the sake of my health, I'm not going to answer that," he replied without missing a beat as Isabela handed him a letter. The envelope was sealed with what appeared to be a school's crest, using red wax. He quirked an eyebrow at the strange emblem before breaking open the envelope and pulling out the contents.

The first sheaf of paper was short and to the point.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

He glanced at Isabela and Daniel with a pained look on his face, "Where do these people think up these names?"

"They're certainly unorthodox," chuckled Isabela, while Daphne was too engrossed in her letter to notice the exchange.

He was casting his eyes over the second page, which listed rules and books, amongst other things, until a discreet cough from Daniel got his attention.

"No point in putting this off anymore, I suppose. Now that your letter is here, we need to talk about the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."

The way Daniel said it left him with little doubt that the man was far more than the headmaster of a school.

* * *

><p>"So this man was allowed to completely take charge of me as a baby?" he asked, frowning at what he had heard over the last half an hour.<p>

"Ignoring many, many protocols along the way, I might add," said Daniel, "The Light would never question their leader. The Dark did not want to call any attention to themselves so close to the fall of their leader. The neutral side tried to look into it, but we lacked the political power to do so."

"But I must have had other family, or at least people close to my family," he asked, wondering just how reclusive the Potters had been.

"Indeed you did. But none of them could have taken you in," frowned Daniel, "Your godfather was sent to Azkaban for allegedly betraying your parents in the war. There was no hearing,though. I have my reservations on the issue. Your godmother, Alice Longbottom, was tortured into insanity along with her husband. They were the only two parties that could have stopped Dumbledore from doing what he did."

He remained silent, contemplating the information. It seemed the war had left deeper scars than he first thought. He would need to learn much more about these political factions before he could act. Summoning his Personas could perhaps resolve the matter through brute force, but that was hardly a lasting or fitting solution.

"I need to know more," he said, after a few minutes of silence, "Not what the books say, or the newspapers say. I need to know from someone who is actively involved in these politics."

"Some of the things that this system does...I'm not sure one so young should hear of it," said Daniel hesitantly.

"This system does not seem to make exceptions for children, Daniel," he said softly, "And Helmsbane told me I would be entangled in it soon after I got my letter."

"Yes. As much as I hate the fact that some children are pulled into it so soon, you're right," scowled Daniel. It was clear that his own daughters were on his mind when he spoke.

"Then I would rather go into this well-informed, rather than reaching blindly in the dark," he said quietly, but firmly.

"I can't argue with that," replied Daniel heavily, before reaching for a nearly empty bottle of whisky.

"Only eleven and already you're driving me to drink," muttered Daniel, though there was a weary amusement in his tone, "Now then, where shall I begin?"

He smiled at Daniel's attempt to lighten the mood, "Beliefs. What do the Dark, the Light, and the Neutral stand for?"

"They're mostly on opposite ends of the spectrum. The Dark believes in the inherent superiority of wizards and looks down on Muggles. They're mostly what we call Purebloods - that means they come from a long line of magical blood. And because they believe in their inherent superiority, they try at every turn to close wizarding society off from new magical blood, whom they consider Mudbloods. They also disapprove of wizards marrying into muggle blood. Half-bloods are tolerated, but ridiculed in their ideology.

The Light, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. They profess equality, and for the most part, they do act accordingly. But their fanaticism to their own beliefs is equal to the Dark wizards with their own beliefs. They regard muggles with some patronization, and are happy to be lax about the security of our society. They seem to believe that muggles are harmless and defenseless. They push for progress at every turn, and yet none of them seem to know what progress really means."

He almost smiled at the dichotomy that had sprung out of the wizarding world, noting how similar they were to political parties in muggle societies.

"And the neutral side?"

"To put it simply, we have a flexible stance. It is foolish to expect one ideology to stand against many diverse situations. We do not agree with the extremism of the Dark, or the extremism of the Light. The right answer usually lies somewhere in the middle," said Daniel softly.

He nodded. That was a stance he could agree with. Angels and demons both resided within him. Angels could be as harsh and unforgiving as demons in some situations, while demons sometimes exhibited virtues that were extolled by angels. Only in the Sea of Souls could two such opposing forces come together. In the heat of battle, they had become comrades. They had found middle ground.

"Who is the more immediate force to deal with?" he asked Daniel, his mind already thinking ahead.

"You will find both forces at work in Hogwarts. But with the leader of the Dark presumed dead, Albus Dumbledore is the more influential force you will come across," said Daniel. The stress on the word 'presumed' did not go unnoticed.

"Then tell me about Dumbledore next," he said, and smiled slightly when Daniel groaned.

"This is going to be a long day, isn't it?"

He smiled innocently, "Perhaps you should pace yourself, Daniel. September is still quite some time away."

Daniel shook his head in mock consternation, "Somehow, I feel like it'll be here before you know it. Now then, Dumbledore. He's quite a character..."

* * *

><p><strong>August 25 - One week till departure<strong>

"I'm telling you, Albus. The boy has been gone for a month now!"

Albus Dumbledore looked at the woman incredulously through his fireplace, unable to comprehend what she had said.

"A month? And you waited this long to tell me?" he asked her, a touch of anger in his voice.

"Those pigs Dursleys maintained that they had sent him to a relative for the summer," replied Mrs. Figg heatedly, "But it got suspicious when they simply ceased to mention him after a while. I told you not to trust them with Harry Albus! Many in the Order told you so!"

"And I have maintained, Arabella, that certain circumstances make it essential for the boy to be there, including the blood wards," said Albus in a tired voice as he rested his head wearily on his hand. He felt old, so very old.

"Well, fat lot of good those protections did, because the boy is gone Albus! If I were you I'd come down here and speak to these muggles at once," proclaimed Arabella, and her head vanished from the fire, leaving Albus to ponder what she had just said.

"Did I do the wrong thing, my friend? I know he was unhappy there. But he was safe from so many who would do him harm," he said to the phoenix besides him, hoping for some support. Fawkes simply looked at him inscrutably, as he always did when Harry was brought up.

Albus sighed and got to his feet. He would have to talk to the Dursleys, a prospect he was not looking forward to. He manipulated the wards and Hogwarts and disappeared with a sharp crack, appearing at the Dursleys' doorstep.

The blood wards were on the verge of collapsing, a sure sign that Harry no longer resided in Privet Drive. It was already well past Harry's birthday. He would have to be brought back, quickly, before the blood wards fell completely.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door, already picturing the look of revulsion and fright on Petunia's face as she opened the door.

* * *

><p><strong>August 27 - 10 A.M<strong>

"How did this Dumbledore even know where to find me?" he frowned as he sat in Daniel's study. The headmaster had somehow discovered his whereabouts, and Daniel had received an owl from him the previous night, requesting a meeting.

"Hogwarts always knows where magical children are, it's how the post owls can always reach you. I' m afraid I don't know how, the secret is well kept. But as headmaster, I'm assuming he has access to it," replied Daniel, sounding annoyed.

"What does he hope to accomplish with this visit?" he asked Daniel, though he had a suspicion he knew the answer already.

"Control. Dumbledore hates it when he loses control. I imagine he will want you to return to your previous...environment," finished Daniel, pronouncing the last word with disgust.

"Then it is good we came up with an idea to deter him," he replied, trying to calm Daniel down. It worked to some extent, as the anger faded from Daniel's face, only to be replaced by an icy look.

"Yes, I hope Dumbledore realizes he's treading on shaky ground. It will not bode well for him otherwise."

He had nothing to say to that, for he agreed with the sentiment. When Daniel had received the letter, the first thing he had done was request Harry's permission for something to use as leverage against the headmaster. He had agreed immediately, for he trusted Daniel's judgment. He would, as always, keep an open mind, but it was foolish to approach a potential threat with no defenses.

The fire flared up and turned emerald green, prompting them both to break out of their thoughts. Daniel fell into what Daphne had called the Greengrass mask. It was a truly frightening sight, to see a normally warm and cheerful man in such a mood.

An old man stepped through the fire, and his eyes widened slightly before he too slipped into his neutral mask. The man was eccentric beyond compare, with a long beard and neon pink robes. Half-moon glasses sat on a crooked nose, framing electric blue eyes. Power emanated from this man, and he threw up his Occlumency shields immediately, remembering what the book said about Legilimency.

"Lord Greengrass, thank you for seeing me," said the old man, bowing slightly to Daniel, nodded curtly.

"Dumbledore."

"And you must be Harry," said the old man, undeterred by Daniel's tone. His eyes twinkled outrageously as he pulled out his wand and conjured a luxurious couch before sitting down.

"I am," he said emotionlessly, surveying the old man.

"I...am here about a rather sensitive issue," began the old man hesitantly. Daniel immediately interrupted, holding up his hand.

He smiled slightly when he saw the use of a classic tactic to throw the other party off their pace.

"I am aware of why you're here Dumbledore. Let me save you time by telling you that Harry has asked me to be his magical guardian, and I have consented. Gringotts has seen to the paperwork. Indeed, they were quite surprised that a child as important as Harry Potter did not have a guardian till then," he finished, his voice dangerously light at the end.

Dumbledore bowed his head, "I admit to taking many liberties when it came to Harry. But all I have done is to ensure that he is protected from those who would seek to harm him."

His eyes narrowed at what Dumbledore said, "In that case, please feel free to tell me how being beaten, abused and treated like a slave for ten years helps protect me," he said coldly, and his aura flared a little. Abuse was one of the few things he had a definitive opinion about.

Dumbledore looked startled at the power he displayed, as well as what he had said.

"What do you mean, Harry? Surely your own relatives would never abuse you."

"His scars, Dumbledore, were horrifying enough to make a goblin flinch. I would suggest a less flippant approach to this topic," said Daniel sharply.

Dumbledore looked at Daniel in shock for a few minutes, before the man's entire demeanor seemed to shrink.

"I...I did not know. I kept tabs on you," he said, speaking to Harry directly, "And while it indicated that you were not loved, I had no idea about abuse. I swear to you."

"Then it seems to me that you did not look very closely," was his emotionless reply as he continued to look at Dumbledore impassively.

"No. I confess I did not," sighed Dumbledore, "The war was finally over, the chaos had stopped. We all embraced the peace that followed wholeheartedly. I believed you were safe. It seems I believed too much and did too little."

"It seems to me we have nothing left to talk about, then," he said quietly, and made to get up from his chair.

"No. Wait," said Dumbledore hurriedly, "I must still ask you to go back, Harry. I will do my best to ensure they do not ill-treat you again. But it is imperative that you return to Privet Drive immediately."

He looked at the old man incredulously, but managed to keep his anger hidden. Demons howled in his mind, begging to be allowed to act on his rage. He silenced them as Daniel stood from his chair, cold rage seeming to pour out of him.

"I believe it is time you leave, Dumbledore. Harry is now under the protection of House Greengrass. And we look out for our own."

Dumbledore looked at Daniel defiantly for a few seconds before a gleam of desperation showed in his eyes.

"I wonder...how would the wizarding world react when they hear that their savior has been taken into a supposedly-dark family," said the old man, and the threat was clear.

Daniel merely smiled, and picked up a paper from his table.

"It seems it has slipped your mind, Dumbledore, but I happen to be one of the major shareholders of the Daily Prophet," he said, a vicious glint in his eye. Dumbledore paled slightly at the reminder.

"In my capacity, I invited one of the journalists there to draw up a rough draft of Harry's first ten years. I believe you will find the article quite interesting," he said, and handed over the parchment to Dumbledore.

Harry watched as blood drained from Dumbledore's face rapidly as he read the header of the story:

_**Shocking Revelations - Boy-Who-Lived Abused! Dumbledore Responsible!**_

_**This reporter talks to Lord Greengrass, who has graciously rescued the savior of the wizarding world from his abusive environment.**_

"You would not do this. It would break your policy of neutrality and declare you to the Purebloods," muttered the old man half-heartedly.

"No, I would not. Not unless someone were to force my hand. You know the way out, Dumbledore," said Daniel coolly before turning his back to the old man, a clear sign of dismissal.

He watched as Dumbledore hesitated for a few seconds and looked at him beseechingly. He let nothing but indifference show. A few seconds later, Dumbledore was gone.

"The bloody nerve of the man," snarled Daniel as he paced around the study.

"Daniel," he said calmly, his anger already dissipating, "Thank you."

His words had the intended effect, and Daniel began to calm down.

"Of course, Harry. I take my duties as a guardian seriously," he said, the usual trace of amusement beginning to return to his tone.

"He is a very confusing man," said Harry, "He showed what seemed to be genuine remorse, and yet he expected me to bow to his whim."

"Dumbledore has always kept his cards close to chest," muttered Daniel as he made to leave the study, "This time was no different. It's time for dinner, Harry. I'll see you downstairs."

The door closed, leaving him alone in the study.

"Well, the first move has been played," he muttered, and then he too left the study.

* * *

><p><strong>September 1st - 9 AM<strong>

"HARRY!" chirped a painfully cheerful voice, and he groaned slightly as he got up from the bed.

It seemed that he was fated to be woken up before he was ready to in any universe he would be in. His mind went back to the various times he had been woken up by his dormmates. Of course, Aigis had done so more daringly than the others, who had merely called to him through the door.

Even as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, Astoria bounced into the room, as energetic as ever.

"Mom wants you to come down soon! Oh, and she also says to make sure you've packed anything," she said cheerfully as she bounded towards the foot of his bed.

"Is that so?" he asked her sleepily, before shuffling over to his trunk and opening it.

"Yeah! Daphne's already eating breakfast!" said Astoria, looking over his shoulder with idle curiosity. Then her eyes dimmed and her face suddenly fell.

"I don't want you guys to leave," she whispered, and his eyes widened slightly as he turned around to face her. He had forgotten that she would be by herself in the house for the first time.

"I'll write to you a lot," he said gently, trying to cheer her up.

"How? You don't have an owl," she asked him despondently.

"No. But I have something better," he said to her, tapping the side of his head with a conspiratorial look.

"Oh, they can deliver letters too?" she asked him curiously, her sadness forgotten.

His lips twitched, "They won't be very happy about it, but sure, they can. If not, I can just send my letters when Daphne sends her owl."

"It's a promise then," cheered Astoria before running out of the room. He shook his head slightly, wondering how she was so active early in the morning before turning his attention back to getting ready.

An hour later, he stood near the door with his trunk locked up, dressed and ready for the journey.

_This is a good chance to try some more magic _he smiled to himself with almost childish glee before focusing on the trunk. He channeled magic to the hand grasping the trunk, willing it to shrink and become light. In a matter of seconds, it was the size of a matchbox.

He smiled, pleased with the result, and put his trunk in his pocket before leaving his room, a strange sense of loss filling him. Even in the short time he had lived in the house, the room had come to be home for him.

The dining room was bustling with activity, as house elves popped in and out with food while Astoria caused havoc with her usual enthusiasm. Even Daphne was affected by the atmosphere, and looked visibly excited.

"Harry! Come on, have some breakfast. Where's your trunk?" asked Isabela with some concern.

He smiled and patted his pocket, proud that he had managed to shrink and lighten his trunk.

"You can do that already?" asked Isabela with astonishment, and then shook her head. "You have your wand, yes?"

He nodded and pulled his wand out from his pocket.

"It's really pretty," chimed in Astoria, and Isabela nodded in agreement.

He had been told that his wand was quite unique. The wand was made with Sycamore white wood, twelve inches, and the core was the powdered scale that he had been given. Just holding it made him feel like power was rushing through his veins. The first time he had picked it up, the stone floor of Damien's study had cracked.

He put it away and focused on the food. He had yet to get used to English breakfasts, missing the rice and various condiments that he would find on a Japanese table. He sighed and reached for his orange juice, wondering whether he could find _natto _in Magical Britain.

Forty-five minutes and many impatient glances from Daphne later, Damien finally put his newspaper down and stood up.

"Ten forty-five. Time to get moving, I think," he said, looking at what appeared to be an antique watch.

"Finally!" exclaimed Daphne, standing up and moving towards Isabela.

"We'll be traveling by Apparition, Harry. Damien will take you. I'll take Daphne and Astoria," said Isabela. She took their hands and disappeared, leaving Harry and Damien alone.

He watched with growing horror as an evil smile crept onto Damien's face.

"Apparition can be quite...unnerving the first few times. But don't worry, I'm sure you'll be fine," he said, the evil grin growing even larger as he beckoned for Harry to grasp his hand.

He wondered how long it would take to commandeer a car and drive to Hogwarts.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Some progress, yeah? I'm not going to rush the story. It's not going to be Arisato just summoning ten personas and wiping out everything in sight. Why? Because now he too needs to build a life here. And he cares about the Greengrasses, and will soon meet many people he will befriend. Meaning he not only has to remove the threat posed by Nyx, he will have to make Wizarding society better. It's just in his nature to try to do the right thing.

**The more reviews I get, the more ideas and inspiration I have to write. So yeah. Review.**


	6. Chapter 5 - Eating the Sorting Hat

**Author's Note will only be at the end of a story from the next update. Enjoy.**

He was still glaring at Daniel as he and Daphne boarded the Hogwarts Express, the whistle sounding to alert people that the train would depart soon.

"Oh don't be so dramatic," whispered Daphne as she waved slightly to her family. He had been surprised to see how Daphne conducted herself in public. Despite knowing how Greengrasses preferred to behave in public, he had still not expected to see such cold indifference on her face. Even her eyes showed no discernible emotion, and her body language even less so. Only eleven years old and already she was close to having the perfect mask. The thought struck an odd chord in him as he too waved at Isabela and Astoria, mock-glaring at Daniel all the while.

"Let's find an empty compartment before they all fill up," suggested Daphne as the second whistle sounded, and the mass of students on the platform began to move towards the train. He nodded in agreement, not all wanting to be in a crowded compartment full of talkative eleven-year-olds.

_You are eleven too, for all intents and purposes _said an amused voice at the back of his mind. He studiously ignored it as Daphne opened a compartment door and gestured to him.

"Can you cast a spell that will prevent others from noticing this compartment?" asked Daphne as they each took a seat close to the windows in the compartment. He frowned slightly as he pondered the question.

"Channeling your intention is tricky. If I were to weave magic with the intention of having his compartment go unnoticed, it could easily be interpreted as making this entire compartment invisible, or moving it to another dimension, or detaching it from the train and moving it to god-knows-where. It could even prefer to make any passers-by selectively blind while they're near this compartment," he said slowly, wrestling with the theory in his mind. If there was one thing Ignatius had emphasized repeatedly in his book, it was how unpredictable magic could be.

"I'll take that as a no," sniffed Daphne, looking out of the windows as the train slowly began to move, steam obscuring their view of the platform, "You should start learning actual spells soon, you know."

He nodded in agreement, realizing she was right. Until one had mastered the nuances of channeling intent, magic was not like gambling. And making a gamble in the middle of a fight was usually a very bad idea. Then a mischievous thought occurred to him. "You know, for now, I have an excellent solution to prevent others from entering this cabin."

"Oh?" asked Daphne, unable to keep the interest out of her voice.

"Glare at them. They'll never set foot near this compartment again," he deadpanned before turning to face the window. It was lucky he did so, for he could feel the heat of her glare almost burning holes into the side of his face. He smirked slightly to indicate that she had just proved his point. The heat only seemed to intensify.

Even Daphne couldn't maintain her glare as the train picked up speed, and the platform began to grow farther and farther away in the distance. A spark of excitement shone in her eyes as the wind began to pick up and weave their hair gently.

He felt it too, surprisingly, the excitement that began to gnaw at him despite his usual indifference towards these things. He had usually known what to expect, even when he had been transferred to Gekkoukan High School. Not the specifics, of course, but he had always been able to paint the broad strokes. But this was a complete unknown. How would these wizarding children behave? Not all of them would be like Daphne, of that he was sure. What would the classes entail? What would the living arrangements be?

The excitement grew steadily as more and more questions began to cross his mind. He shook his head, realizing that getting worked up would serve no purpose. The movement drew a curious look from Daphne, prompting him to explain, "Just trying not to get too worked up. This is quite the unknown situation for me, you know."

"I keep forgetting you're new to our world," said Daphne, amusement lacing her tone, "In many ways, you're the weirdest of us all, so it's quite easy to forget."

He snorted at that and took out his trunk from his pocket before placing it next to him and enlarging it. He took out the book of Charms that he was required to have and began to read it. Daphne was right, he needed to learn actual spells while he worked on understanding magic. Charms was a fascinating subject. It allowed one to bestow someone with attributes, or change its existing attributes. As he was drawn deeper and deeper into the book, the excitement bubbled down to a manageable level.

He only partially noticed Daphne tucking her legs up on the seat before looking out of the window. She seemed to be in a pensive mood as she watched the landscape twist and change at a rapid pace. As peaceful silence filled the compartment, he found himself cautiously hoping that it would last for the duration of the journey.

He was wrong.

* * *

><p>The first disturbance came not ten minutes into the journey, when someone threw back the door to the compartment rather loudly. He winced at the sudden noise and looked at the entrance. A ginger-haired, freckled boy stood holding a heavy trunk, his face covered with soot at certain parts.<p>

"Hi, I'm Ron Weasley. Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full," panted the boy.

He was about to nod his assent when he realized that the boy's eyes were fixed firmly on the scar he bore on his forehead, and suspicion began to gnaw at him. In Gekkoukan, he had become popular with the student populace within a few months, which had led to many students offering false friendships, in the hope of taking advantage of his popularity.

His experiences with his friends had left him holding bonds in high esteem, and to find people making a mockery of these bonds had irritated him greatly. Even as he was deliberating, however, the boy had taken permission for granted and sat besides Harry. He sighed, but decided not to say anything. Initial impressions could be deceiving after all. He would not be quick to pass judgment. If the look on Daphne's face was anything to go by, she was irritated as well.

He gave her a miniscule shake of the head, and she nodded before returning to looking out of the window. It was an exasperated kind of nod. He hoped the redhead - Ron, he had to remind himself - wouldn't push her too far.

Sighing quietly, he reached for his book once again, only for Ron to attempt to strike up a conversation.

"So uh... what's your name?" Ron asked, his voice quite casual.

"Harry Greengrass," he replied, realizing now was a good time to test the boy's intentions.

"What? But...but...aren't you...?" stammered the boy, going bright red as he tried to process what he had just heard.

"Am I what?" he asked the boy calmly, though his conviction that something was not right grew even further.

"You can't be a Greengrass!" exclaimed the boy, his face now thoroughly red with embarrassment.

"Then you do know me?" he asked Ron, and this time the boy flinched.

"Why are you really here, Weasley?" Daphne asked icily.

The redhead looked conflicted for a few minutes, his eyes darting around the compartment like a cornered animal. He couldn't help but feel a measure of sympathy for the boy, regardless of the fact that Ron had tried to deceive him.

"My mother," admitted Ron, his voice almost a whisper, "She wanted me to find you and be your friend."

He could not suppress the flare of anger that arose, but this, the anger was not directed at the boy. What kind of parent would instruct their child to force a friendship.

"And you?" he asked Ron, deciding that how he answered this question would be the pivotal point, "What do you think Ron?"

"Well...you're cool and all, you know? Defeating You-Know-Who. That's wicked. But a friend's gotta be someone you can hang out with, y'know?" Ron fumbled awkwardly with his words, but the intent behind them was clear enough.

He smiled at the boy, his first true reaction since the boy had entered the room. In many ways, the boy reminded him of Junpei. Awkward, clumsy, but at the core of it all had been a heart of gold.

"You should trust yourself more, Ron," he told the boy, "Your idea sounds better than what your mother had in mind."

"You think?" asked the boy hopefully, before a large grin spread over his face.

"Of course. I too think that a friend has to be someone you can hang out with and trust," he asserted.

"Wicked," said the boy, still grinning, before leaning back against seat and relaxing. The tension that had hung thick in the air dispelled as if it had never been there.

He smiled slightly at the disbelieving look Daphne sent him before deciding to be a little proactive, "This is Daphne Greengrass, Ron."

"Oh...er, hi," said Ron, "Sorry about...you know, before," he continued, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

Daphne sighed, before relenting, "Nice to meet you, Ron."

He nodded to himself, pleased that their first interaction on the train had not been a total disaster. He returned to his book, leaving Daphne and Ron to exchange uneasy, but well-intended small talk.

Peace reigned in their compartment once more. People passed by the door, and the sounds of talk and laughter reached them, muffled through the closed doors of their compartment. They were joined by a fourth companion, one of the rodent variety, when Ron introduced to them his pet Scabbers. It did not contribute much by way of excitement, preferring instead to nap incessantly wherever it lay.

He read uninterrupted for more than two hours this time, and was now able to extrapolate how these spells worked, to some extent. There were layers of foci. The incantation itself was one. The movements of the wand was another. But nowhere was focus of the mind mentioned. He frowned at this omission, wondering why such an important concept had not been mentioned, even in passing theory. In his own case, he reasoned, knowing the incantation would be enough. He had reasonable faith in his mind's ability to focus enough to carry out the rest of the spell. The incantations he memorized steadily, storing the words in his mindscape every fifteen minutes.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. The door slid open yet again, and this time, the intruder seemed to have a retinue with him. He was aristocratic, of that there was no doubt. The way the pale blonde hair had been smoothed back, the way he held himself, everything about him suggested noble blood. An unpleasant sneer marred his face, however. He frowned. The sneer held arrogance and intolerance, but something about it also seemed false, like an ill-fitting mask.

"So it's true then. They've been talking about it on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts," he said smoothly, delivering the lines as if he had been rehearsing them.

_He probably has_ said the voice in his mind amusedly. He was inclined to agree. But even as he was thinking, the boy had continued to speak.

"And already the rabble seems to have found him," said the boy, the disdain in his voice sounding practised. The statement seemed to have been intended for Ron, who had evidently picked up on it if his rapidly reddening face was anything to go by.

"Malfoy," he snarled in response, "They're still letting Death Eater scum go to Hogwarts?"

Now it was Malfoy's pale face that went pink at the insult.

"Red hair. shabby clothes. Dirty. I don't even have to guess to know you're a Weasley," sneered Malfoy.

This set Ron off again, beginning a tirade of insults that seemed to be without end. A part of him was impressed. He had not come across many people who had such an impressive repertoire of insults at their disposal. He quirked an eyebrow at Daphne, wondering if she could shed any light on the situation.

"That's Draco Malfoy. He's from a well known...conservative family," she said softly, placing emphasis on the word 'conservative'.

Now he understood Ron's initial statement. For the second time that day, anger reared its head, howling with an intensity it had not possessed the first time. This boy's family was part of the reason Harry Potter had no parents. Part of why Harry Potter had to live with abuse for ten long years. He realized with a start that what he was feeling was not entirely his own emotions. Harry Potter's emotions remained - the strong ones atleast. And what the little boy had felt about his relatives had been very strong indeed.

He wrestled down the anger, trying to show it its own futility. The boy himself was not to blame. He would have been but a baby when those tragic events had happened. To rage at him was useless.

Yet he stood there, no doubt nurtured by that ideology. In all probably, he was already a lost cause - succumbing to a particular line of reasoning in his most sensitive years. But why was his instinct tell him not to write Malfoy off so easily?

Then it came to him. The mask was too perfect. The insults too practised. When framed against Ron's actions, that were flawed, real, and unquestionably instantaneous, the conclusion could not have been more obvious.

"Why do you do it?" he asked. The question was simple enough, and so totally different from the vein of the current conversation that it struck both Ron and Malfoy silent, and both looked confused.

He looked at Malfoy and asked again, "Why do you do it?"

"Do what?" asked Malfoy, and now confusion took control of his face.

"Wear a mask that ill suits you."

Confusion. Understanding. Fear. Aggression. The emotions flitted through the boy's face in quick succession, and he settled on his customary sneer.

"What are you talking about Potter?"

"Yeah, what're you on about mate?" asked Ron in bewilderment.

He ignored both questions, and instead made another observation.

"You haven't told us your name yet."

Here the boy recovered a little, and the sneer faded a little.

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Here Ron snickered, and the bickering started yet again. His head began to throb, and he felt his hold on his patience grow loose. He didn't like loud noises.

"**That's enough."**

He poured magic into his voice, willing it to be commanding. It was a trick he had picked up from the most powerful entities he held. They could all project their voice, to the point where weak enemies would surrender from the sheer power and force it held. Their voices would command obedience or submission.

It was a mild version of this that he now employed. It was effective nonetheless, as both boys turned to him, wide-eyed. Even Daphne looked shocked what he had just done. He sighed. Being forceful was not something he enjoyed.

"Everyone here will have to be civil. There's no call for all this poison," he said pointedly.

"But Harry! He's from a Death Eater family. He's probably going to be in Slytherin too, the slimy bastard."

"I said that's enough," he reiterated, this time more forcefully.

"Ron," he continued, "It made you angry, didn't it? When he was able to tell you were a Weasley just by looking at you."

"Yes, it did," snarled Ron.

"And yet here you are, doing the same thing to him. Judging him by his appearance and family."

This shut Ron up, and for the first time since the exchange had begun, a trace of shame flicked across his face.

Draco looked inordinately pleased, and was about say something scathing when he spoke yet again.

"And you, Draco. You knew exactly what I meant when I spoke about your mask. And I know why you're here, so let me make this clear. Draco is welcome to stay in this compartment. Malfoy is not."

The Malfoy scion looked visibly shaken. He stood there for a few minutes, indecision clear on his face, before he turned to the two boys behind him, who had merely stood there till then.

"Go sit with the other," he said before hesitantly sitting opposite Ron.

He exhaled, realizing that peace had been forged, at least for a while.

"Greengrass," muttered Draco in greeting, and Daphne responded in kind.

He could tell that Daphne was thoroughly amused as well as irritated by now. He could not blame her. Volatile personalities had gathered in the compartment. Only time would tell if it could remain so.

It was put to the test, sooner than he would have liked, when the compartment door flew open yet again. As all heads turned to face the entrance, two with some trepidation as to what was coming next, a bushy-haired girl flounced into view.

"Have any of you seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she asked out of the blue, words flying out of her mouth at lightning speed.

"I don't-" began Daphne when she was immediately cut off.

"Is that the book of Charms we're learning this year?" she blurted out, seeing the book he held in his hand, "I've already read it of course. And the Transfiguration book. And the Potions book. Actually, I've read everything. Twice. I still don't think I can remember it all though. But I can recite the major laws at least. That's something to be going on with, don't you think?"

"You-" started Malfoy, but the tirade of words did not seem to be drying up.

"Potions is sooooooo interesting. It's got so many instructions to memorize. Herbology seems boring, but I don't know, we haven't met the teachers yet right. I plan on winning as many points as possible. Have you read the rules yet? You really ought to, you know."

"Wha-" was as far as Ron managed to get before the next tidal wave washed over them.

"Rules are so important, I'm shocked that a lot of the students I've spoken to haven't read it. It won't do any good to get on the teachers' bad side you know. They're bound to be experts, so they know what they're talking about. You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" she finished, turning sharply to Ron at the end before closing the door just as quickly.

"What was that?" asked Draco, sounding as if something surreal had just happened. Daphne looked to be in a similar state. It took Ron, with his refreshing way of phrasing things, to bring them back again.

"Mental, that one," said Ron, shaking his head before pulling out a parcel from his pocket, "Corned beef sandwiches anyone?"

Draco smiled. Daphne giggled. He couldn't help himself. He chuckled. All faces in the compartment immediately turned to him.

"I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before," said Daphne in a slightly awed voice.

"There is a difference," he responded with as much dignity as he could muster, "Between a laugh and a chuckle."

Daphne broke out into giggles yet again. He shook his head, but in his mind, he was happy to see that the people in the compartment seemed to be bonding.

If the social bond system had still been active, his heart told him that this was where one would have begun to make itself known.

* * *

><p>The unlikely group drew many glances as they disembarked from the train. Most of these glances were from children who had been brought up in the wizarding world, and presumably knew one or more of them already. The skies were beginning to darken, and the weather looked to be stormy.<p>

"Firs' years over here! Firs' years this way!" boomed a deep voice, and he turned, only to find himself looking at the largest man he had ever seen. Well, discounting the human legends among his personas at least. Hercules could have given this man a run for his money.

The giant held a large lantern that attracted the students around him like moths to a flame. As they drew close, he turned to face them, and his beetle-like eyes lit up in recognition when they fell upon him.

"Harry! Blimey, look at ye all grown up." He blinked. Apparently the giant was familiar with him, and not just because of his name. His confusion must have shown, for the giant promptly held out his hand.

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o' Keys and Groundskeeper of Hogwarts. I knew your parents very well. Yer the spitting image of James. But yer eyes are Lily's and no mistake," he continued, smiling gently at Hagrid.

He couldn't help but smile back at the man as his arm was nearly dislocated in the enthusiatic handshake that followed. He could hear Draco and Ron snickering in the background, and threw them a half-hearted glare.

"Ye'll have to come around for tea and meet Fang, Harry. Now, on to Hogwarts. Dumbledore trusts me with ferrying ye lot across, you know. Great man Dumbledore," Hagrid's chest seemed to swell with pride as he said it.

And almost imperceptible frown crossed his face before he smoothed it away. Dumbledore. The name still held negative connotations for him. Luckily, Hagrid didn't seemed to have noticed, as he was already ushering the other students in the direction of the lake.

"You've got to be kidding me," muttered Draco as the boats they would be using came into view.

"No more than four to each boat!" boomed Hagrid's voice again, and the four promptly found an empty boat. Draco and Daphne lowered themselves down hesitantly on the wooden plank, something that amused him greatly. Daphne did not vocalize her thoughts, but he had no doubts that she had been expecting her journey to Hogwarts to be more...dignified.

Malfoy let his thoughts show rather openly on his face.

"I wonder what the Sorting's gonna be like," muttered Ron, shivering as spray from the lake hit them at irregular intervals. The storm appeared to be worsening, and he wondered at the wisdom of letting first years cross the lake in such bad weather.

"You mean you don't know?" asked Draco, and amazingly, there was no discernible mockery in his tone.

"Family wanted it to be a surprise for me," replied Ron, his teeth now beginning to chatter.

He looked around, realizing that the cold seemed to be affecting all three of them. He himself had never paid much attention to the weather, something that had bothered his dormmates come winter.

He willed his magic into action once again, making sure to focus hard on his desired outcome. He had not yet learned the incantations for heating and drying charms, though they had been mentioned in passing in the book.

It seemed to have its intended effect nonetheless, as all three stopped shivering rather abruptly. Ron had let his face transform into one of pure bliss. He had to smother a grin at that, as it reminded him greatly of Junpei when Chidori had first returned his affections.

"Thank you," said Daphne gratefully, while Draco looked at him in astonishment.

"You cast those charms silently and wandlessly? That's amazing, those are spells we don't even learn this year!" he exclaimed.

"I've had time to practice," was his deliberately ambiguous response, following which he hastened to change the subject.

"So what Houses do you want to get into?" he asked them, genuinely interested in their responses.

"Slytherin," replied Draco immediately, "Cunning and ambitious. They're traits I praise highly."

"Gryffindor," said Ron proudly, "Bravery and courage all the way."

He couldn't help but notice that neither of them attempt to insult the other's choice. It was a sign of growth, or so he hoped.

"I could go into Slytherin or Ravenclaw really," was Daphne's response, "Either one of them would be beneficial for me."

"What about you?" asked Draco curiously.

He thought for a minute, before replying, "Ravenclaw, I think."

"Why Ravenclaw?" asked Ron, genuinely surprised, "I think you'd do great in Gryffindor!"

"Or Slytherin," interjected Draco.

He shrugged, "All four traits are admirable. But the way I see it, courage can be misused unless you have the wisdom to use it for the right causes. One must not give out their loyalty easily, meaning they must have the wisdom to decide who truly deserves their loyalty. And cunning and ambition can result in ruin unless they are supplemented with wisdom. Wisdom seems to be the common factor to me."

What followed was silence, or as close to silence as it could get while a storm raged around them.

"I can't believe it. He ruined Slytherin for me," muttered Draco as the boat stopped with a jerk, signifying that their journey was over.

"We missed the view of Hogwarts!" exclaimed Daphne, sounding scandalized.

Now he felt a little guilty for engaging them in conversation.

"Never mind, it still looks awesome now," said Ron, looking at the castle with something akin to worship.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with the Weasel," said Draco, but there was no malice in his voice.

He had to agree as well. The castle looked magnificent as it was framed by darkness and rain. Thousands of candles had been lit, making it look like a warm and welcoming haven. He could understand why almost everyone regarded Hogwarts with fondness, at least. In the stark isolation of the Scottish highlands, the castle was a haven - mysterious and full of adventure, from the looks of it.

It was a shivering, huddled mass that grouped together near a large gate that presumably led into the castle. He felt rather guilty, seeing as how he himself was warm and dry. The guilt did not last long, however, as Hagrid banged on the door three times with a large fist.

A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd as the stately doors swung open, revealing a strict-looking woman who was clearly their reception.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take it from here," she said in a clipped, Scottish tone as she beckoned the group to enter what appeared to be a waiting hall. He could see two more large doors beyond which he could hear the dulled sounds of hundreds of voices as they chattered and laughed. This was clearly where the older students were waiting.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "I am Professor McGonagall, your Transfiguration professor. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you can take your seats, you must first be Sorted.

The House you are assigned to will be quite important. You will live with them, study with them, and participate in school events as a part of your Houses.

"The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has a longstanding legacy at Hogwarts. Your conduct must be in keeping with this, as good behavior is rewarded with House points, while misbehavior results in loss of these points...and more."

She sounded vaguely sinister by the end of it, and many students were looking at her uneasily. She seemed to be completely oblivious to it, though he had a feeling that she was completely aware of what she had said and how they had responded.

"Now then, I suggest you ready yourselves while you wait. The Sorting will begin shortly," she finished, and within seconds they were alone in the antechamber.

The room was soon filled with the overpowering smell of wet clothes, amongst other things, as dozens of eleven-year-olds jostled nervous in a small, enclosed space.

The seconds passed in nervous anticipation, as none of them particularly felt like talking then. The silence was broken when an arrogant looking boy stalked up to them, his eyes fixed on Draco.

"Well well, Malfoy, I wondered where you'd gotten off to on the train. And here you are, with a half-blood and a blood traitor," he sneered. The sneer was made even more ugly by his brutish features.

Draco, to his credit, did not even bat an eyelid as he slipped into his aristocratic mask.

"Indeed, Nott. I've been talking to the Boy-Who-Lived, the Greengrass heir, as well as one of our oldest Pureblood families. I wonder, what were you doing? Sniffing your own armpit, no doubt," he jibed, returning the sneer with ease. The retort resulted in nervous laughter among the students.

He did not taken offense to how he had featured in Draco's response. This was not even really about him, after all.

Nott snarled, and was about leap for Draco when the doors fell open, and they were hit by the full noise and light of the next room.

Thousands of candles lit the room, making many of them blink as they adjusted to the bright light. Four long wooden tables lay parallel to each other, filled with students. At the far end of the room was a raised table, where the teachers sat.

The group trudged into the hall, accompanied by cheers, excited chatter, and the occasional jeer. They came to a stop in front of professor McGonagall, who was near a plain wooden stool on which stood a dirty, ragged pointy hat.

Ron looked around, confused.

"Wh-where's the test? Fred and George were going on about wrestling a troll!"

Draco rolled his eyes, before stating, "That's the Sorting Hat. Mother said that the Hat is sentient. It's placed on your head, and then it sorts you."

"Please come up when your name is called," announced the aged professor crisply before beginning to read off a list.

"Abbot, Hannah!"

A blonde haired girl walked towards the hat hesitantly, and sat on the stool. When the hat was placed over her head, he could see the girl whispering, as if to herself. After a few moments, the hat spoke out of a rip near the brim -

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

He was shocked. The hat had not spoken before, so he had to assume that the hat could communicate mentally. And there was a lot in his mind that he did not want anyone to know, especially not an old clothing accessory.

_Although, going by how it looks, it appears fashion in the wizarding world has not had any significant leaps in centuries _said a snide voice in his mind.

And so the Sorting went on, until it was Daphne's turn.

"Greengrass, Daphne."

Daphne looked quite uneasy, but she hid it well as the hat was placed over her head. This time, the hat was silent for nearly a minute. Half-way through the silence, a frown appeared on her face. Finally, the hat called out -

"RAVENCLAW!"

The Ravenclaw table greeted her with a polite round of applause. Daphne walked towards their table, looking quite pleased with the result of the Sorting. He could not fault the decision. While Daphne's status required cunning and ambition, she exercised those qualities as an obligation, rather than embracing what they in themselves signified.

In stark contrast, the Hat seemed to have almost no trouble when it came to sorting Draco. He had walked forward with a confident smile, a confidence which had been justified, for it took the Hat only a second to shout -

"SLYTHERIN!"

Nott, who was just behind Draco, scowled when Draco's sorting was called out. He too was sorted into Slytherin a few minutes later, though it took the Hat a lot longer to assess him. He took his place at the Slytherin table with an unpleasant smile on his face.

He couldn't help but feel concerned for Draco. The feeling passed as the sorting continued, and finally, it was his turn.

"Potter, Harry."

The intake of breath around the hall was audible enough that he half-expected a vacuum to form within it. Every eye from every table were immediately turned towards the direction of the Hat. Even professor McGonagall looked at him with an odd emotion in her eyes.

He exhaled slowly, slightly unnerved by the attention. It made all his past experiences look trivial in comparison, and drove home once again how famous Harry Potter was in certain circles.

The hat fell over his eyes, something for which he was quite grateful. It obscured his view of hundreds of people looking at him. Even as the hat was lowered, he threw up the Occlumency barrier he had been working on. He had no illusions as to its strength, for he had been more focused on building his mindscape, which was now quite deadly. Nevertheless, he hoped it would give the Hat pause.

_**Hmm, you've got a barrier I see **_said a voice in his head_** You'll have to let me through for me to sort you, you know?**_

_I have secrets I would rather keep to myself. I apologize for the inconvenience_ he replied politely.

_**My, aren't we a polite one. Don't worry, youngster, I'm bound to silence. I can tell absolutely no one of what I find.**_

He hesitated, but ultimately lowered his shields. The seconds passed, and the silence in the hall began to grow oppressive.

_**This...this is incredible **_came the voice again, this time sounding awed _**It is an honour to meet one such as you, Master Arisato.**_

He jerked at the mention of his former name. Even though he had expected the hat to comb through his mind, to hear that name again was simply unnerving.

_**My god...is that a dragon? And that's…that's an angel! And oh my god...why is that giant fly coming this way? HE'S TRYING TO EAT ME!**_ came the panicked voice, and now he almost laughed. It was probably Beelzebub, he took fiendish pleasure in scaring any and all entities.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the Hat hastily, and gave an audible sigh of relief when it was lifted from his head. The Ravenclaw table burst into applause that was nearly deafening, while many of the Hufflepuffs joined in politely. Most of the Gryffindors looked like someone had just killed a puppy, while Slytherin just looked unconcerned. Draco, however, gave him a subtle thumbs up.

He smiled when he saw that Daphne had been saving a seat for him at the table.

"Where else would you have been sorted?" she shrugged noncommittally.. His lips twitched as he realized that she was trying to maintain her public persona.

He sat down next to her, shaking the hands of many of the older students as he did so. A few even clapped him on his back. But he was relieved to see that none of their eyes held outright hero worship in them.

His stomach was growling by the time it was Ron's turn. And by the look on Ron's face, he guessed Ron would have eaten the Hat if he could have gotten away with it. As it was, the Hat was as quick to sort Ron as it was to sort Draco -

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Ron was all smiles as he walked towards the Gryffindor table, where three other red-heads seemed to be sitting as well. He realized what Draco had meant on the train. It was indeed easy to tell that they were siblings. Ron waved to him enthusiastically once he got to his seat. He smiled slightly and raised a hand in response.

The Sorting was soon over, following which Dumbledore stood up. He realized why the man was such a powerful force in the wizarding world. His entire demeanor seemed to radiate an eccentric kind of charisma and power.

"I have four words I would like to share with you," beamed the old man, "Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak. Thank you."

Well. Perhaps more eccentricity than charisma.

His thoughts were soon distracted, however, when a magnificent feast suddenly appeared on the table. His stomach growled a little, and he realized with some embarrassment that he was hungrier than he'd realized.

"Shut up," he muttered as Daphne looked at him amusedly, and reached for the closest dish he could find.

* * *

><p><strong>An hour later<strong>

"Gather around," called the Ravenclaw prefect as the students crowded around what appeared to be a door with a bronze knocker. The prefect rapped on the door clearly, and soon, a voice came from the knocker.

"_I exist until the moment I am spoken of. What am I?"_

"Silence," replied the prefect crisply, and the door opened of its own accord. He couldn't help but be impressed by the system. This truly was the house that prized knowledge and wisdom.

They entered a room that was cozily furnished, with bronze and blue being the color theme. He was tired, and sleepy, didn't pay much attention to his surroundings just then. Apparently, that had been expected, for the prefect merely pointed to a staircase that led even higher and said -

"You'll find your rooms on the first floor. Each student gets their own room. You will find your name on the door to the room that has been assigned to you. Sleep well tonight, Professor Flitwick will be addressing you tomorrow at seven in the morning. Being late is not advisable."

He sighed in relief, happy that the professor had chosen to address them tomorrow. It was quite considerate of him. From what the students around him were saying, they appeared to agree with him.

"See you tomorrow," smiled Daphne before disappearing up the staircase.

"Tomorrow indeed," he muttered blearily as he followed suit. All in all, it had been one hell of a first day.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**So, I wanted an unlikely group around Arisato. And the Draco-Ron-Daphne combination is a little more uncommon than the usual set, I think.**

**No, there will not be Hermione bashing. In this case, it was purely intended for comic relief. But like I said in an earlier chapter and in my profile, I don't like her. So don't expect her to be brought into the fold.**

**I'm a little unhappy that Daphne is the only girl in the group right now. I'll be bringing in one or two more female characters to even the scales a little. The plot is still in motion in my head.**

**Review please! Dropping that line or two really does make a difference.**

**Until next time.**


	7. Chapter 6 - When a Mind Fragments

**{insert stereotypical disclaimer}**

Never before had his mind been breached. Never, in the countless battles he had fought in Tartarus had he allowed someone to dictate the workings of his mind. He shared it, yes, with a veritable legion of entities, but they too had been shown their boundaries. Oh they had tried at first, the newly birthed angels flooding his mind with their harsh views, the infant devils trying to fan the anger and rage within him. But never had he succumbed.

Yet, here it stood, in the most sacred of his sanctums.

**Wielder of the Wild Card.**

He swallowed slightly, the voice rushing him back to the point he had almost given up. To the point where he had been so battered, body and mind, that he had almost conceded defeat.

**You have broken me.**

Wings, darker than night itself flared up as Nyx Avatar spoke, its head cocked to one side as if it were truly considering him for the first time.

**When Erebus called out to me, your fate was already decided.**

Now the figure began to warp and distort, as if he was viewing it through a pool of water.

**But you broke me.**

**You broke my place in the structure.**

**It was written that I would never be defeated.**

He opened his mouth to speak, but soon realized that the words would not come. He was not meant to speak here. He was only meant to listen.

**But you defeated me.**

**Broken, I am cast aside. Useless. My place gone.**

Now the distortion increased in frequency, and the Avatar began to split apart, as if it were decaying. Shadows pooled in large quantities where torn pieces of the avatar fell, and each began to move as if with a life of its own.

**Then I shall forge my own purpose.**

A feeling of dread washed over him at the proclamation. Before, when he had fought Nyx, it had always been with the knowledge that Nyx was not inherently evil. It was merely fulfilling its purpose, like an eraser was meant to erase. There had been no strong force driving it, only the confidence that it was meant to succeed.

**No longer will I wait for humanity's feeble will to reach Erebus.**

But now, it was clear that Nyx was deranged. Or as close to deranged as such an entity could get.

_**I**_** will sound the Call myself.**

Now, he realized Nyx was driven.

**I will tear apart your wretched world until you beg for oblivion.**

He watched in horror as the pieces of Nyx began to dissipate one by one, as if leaving for something else. Or rather, some_where_ else.

**I will make you watch as the bonds you fought for crumble to dust.**

Now there were only a few pieces left. He knew this encounter was almost over.

**Then, I will erase this world until nothing is left.**

It was gone now, the only trace that it was ever there reaching him as it hissed its final statement.

**I am Nyx. And this I name to be my own purpose.**

He woke up in a small room, wide-eyed and breathing quickly, the scar on his forehead throbbing as if it had been branded with a red-hot iron.

* * *

><p>It took him nearly an hour to meditate through the vision - for lack of a better word - that he had witnessed. By then, the sun was beginning to break over the horizon, and a blood-orange hue had spread over the lower part of the sky. The first of the beams of light broke the darkness in his room, and he was glad for the light of day.<p>

His room was...efficient was the only word he could find for it. It was rather small, and had a bed, a wardrobe, as well as a desk and chair. There were three empty racks hung on one wall, and here he now began to sort the books he had brought with him.

As his fingers moved deftly, unpacking, folding, and placing, he went over what he had heard yet again. It did not bode well that Nyx was now completely unpredictable, just as he had once been. Instead of the being that had remained unchanged throughout the eons, she was now beginning to manifest potential - the very quality that he had admired and manifested. The very quality that had allowed him to defeat Nyx.

And so he unpacked and thought, realizing that his previous knowledge of Nyx would not serve him well now. More than ever, he felt his thoughts moving towards the Velvet Room, craving for the bits of information that Igor would pass to him, allowing him to form a coherent picture in time. Now, he had no such guide.

Soon, he began to hear voices in the hallway outside him, signifying that it was almost time for Flitwick to address the first years in the Common Room. He looked at his trunk, which was now empty, and moved it to one corner of the room. The room now bore a few personal touches, but still had a mass-produced quality to it.

He dressed quickly in his school robes and left the room, not even bothering to try and tame his hair, which much resembled his own. Perhaps it was even untidier than his own had been, which was something of an achievement in itself.

Students had begun drifting out of their rooms when he left his own, many of them still looking bedraggled. He couldn't blame them, if it hadn't been for the fact that many of his nights had ended with him sleeping after training during The Dark Hour, he would probably have been feeling quite tired as well. As it was, he felt quite alert as he descended the steps leading to the Common Room, where a diminutive professor was already waiting, flanked by two students who appeared to be Prefects.

He stood unobtrusively by a corner of the room, close enough to hear the professor clearly. A few minutes later, the room was full of first years, as well as a few older students who appeared to be curious in the first year. Daphne had been one of the last to arrive, and her frosty persona was tempered down by what appeared to be bleary sleepiness.

"Well then," began the tiny professor, "My name is Professor Flitwick, and I am the Head of Ravenclaw House. Welcome. These are the two Fifth year prefects."

"Eden Pearce," said the male prefect crisply. He looked quite stoic, in comparison to the bustling energy in the common room.

"And I'm Emily Cooper," smiled the girl standing to the right of Professor Flitwick.

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," started the professor with a merry glint in his eye, "It certainly makes for a catchy slogan, yes?"

Nervous laughter echoed around the room. The older students appeared amused at how nervous the first-years were.

"Yesterday, my counterparts will have told their own students what is expected of them as part of a house. It is my turn now, yes? To tell you exactly what you are expected to do and how you are expected to behave?"

Some students nodded. Others looked uncertain, as if considering their reply. He remained silent, though internally he was applauding the tiny wizard's skill at oration. He had almost all students hanging on his every word already.

The professor's face suddenly grew stern then, and the change was startling.

"Wrong. This is Ravenclaw House. _Nothing_ will be spoon-fed to you here. What the Hat saw in you was merely the potential for wisdom, wit and intelligence. This," he said, gesturing to a room that had a statue of a woman near it, "is your proving ground."

Prefect Pearce walked over to the door and opened it, gesturing for the students to look. Gasps rang around the room as the students realized what they were looking at.

Now the professor's voice was low, and no longer squeaky. Instead, it seemed to hold in it some of the grit that the goblin-folk possessed.

"That room alone is almost the same size as the Hogwarts library. But it doesn't have the same books, oh no."

Here some of the older students snickered, as if what the professor had just said was a hidden joke.

"There are rare books in that room, some that do not exist anywhere else. Many of them were written by Ravenclaws, for Ravenclaws. They have never been published to the general public. And almost every book you see there will test you. Most will test you. Some will actively oppose you. But the reward is great."

He nodded, and the prefect closed the door. He faced the students once again.

"So. This is the only thing I will ever tell you as your Head of House. Pursue your wisdom. There is no such thing as a single path to wisdom. Not even the goal is the same. Each and every one of you has the potential to find your own strain of wisdom. So think. Doubt as much as you can. Never accept something that you haven't critiqued for yourself. And never throw your lot in blindly."

He could not deny it. This professor impressed him. The Personas of Wisdom in him were drawn strongly to what had just been said. It echoed his own thoughts so closely that he could not help but smile.

"Now then, many of you are new to the magical world, so let me tell you a few brief things about Ravenclaw Tower. The rest you are expected to discover on your own," he added dryly before continuing,

"This tower is, simply put, a work of art in magical terms. There is a particular kind of magic called space-extension magic. Some of you might have noticed this on the Hogwarts express. It is a most temperamental kind of magic, when used in large proportions, and in many layers."

He gestured to the space around them, "The tower itself does not even appear to have the breadth to accommodate this common room, let alone dormitories and a library, when you look at it from the outside."

Here some students nodded. He frowned, vaguely remembering a blurry shape. But the storm had blocked most of his vision, and he had been focused on other things.

"It truly takes intelligence to decipher the complex web this Tower contains. The best of the seventh year students are given the chance to renew the enchantments every year. Which brings me to the subject of your living quarters. What do you think of them?"

"Spartan," muttered a Ravenclaw first year before going bright red as all eyes turned on him.

"Well put," chuckled Flitwick, "And they are so for a reason. Your Prefects will explain, and then take you down for breakfast. They have taken the time to make you a map as well, to make your initial navigation easier. Be sure to thank them."

Even as the professor left, excited whispers broke around the room.

"For such a small man, his presence was considerable," said Daphne dryly at his side.

"Be honest, you're impressed," he told her, making her lips twitch at the corners.

"Well, there was a lot of be impressed about," she replied coolly.

"Alright, listen up!" called Prefect Cooper, and there was silence once again.

"Most of the work you are required to do, at least for the first five years, is read and summarize. It is certainly what most of the school chooses to do. If they choose to do it at all" she added sarcastically.

Here coughs rang around the room, and most of them oddly seemed to sound like "Gryffindor."

"But Ravenclaw has never been content to do merely that. If you see a Law you disagree with, make your case, and you will be rewarded. If you have an idea, present it well, and you will be rewarded. All professors have grown to expect as much from us," she said quietly.

"If you perform well, you are rewarded with better furnishing and more room. And, of course, the work you do in our own library will not go unnoticed by the Prefects or Professor Flitwick," said Prefect Pearce, and now the students looked excited at the prospect.

"Your other option, of course, is to perform the space extension charm yourself, and transfigure or conjure your own furniture" continued Prefect Cooper with a wicked smile on her face, "Though it is absolutely prohibited to do so without Professor Flitwick present. We cannot have the tower blowing up."

"Now then, follow us to the Great Hall," intoned Prefect Pearce in his already trademark monotone before walking out of the common room. It was a very excited and wide-awake group of first years that followed him.

* * *

><p>"Hey there," grinned the brown-haired student who had described the accommodations as 'spartan' earlier on, "I'm Terry Boot, nice to meet you."<p>

The Great Hall was abuzz as breakfast was in full swing, many of the old students greeting each other after their vacation. He winced at noise level, wondering if he could have his breakfast elsewhere before looking at the boy who had spoken to him.

"Pleased to meet you, Terry. I'm Harry Potter," he said. Terry snorted in response.

"I don't know if you're being serious or not. You hardly need to introduce yourself you know."

"I suppose here it's more for the sake of etiquette than anything else," he agreed, smiling slightly.

"Almost everywhere in the wizarding world you mean. Boot, I can't imagine why the Hat put you in this house," said Daphne, though not with any real venom behind her words. It appeared the two of them already knew each other.

"Almost all the children of Noble families meet at some point," she shrugged at his questioning look.

"It doesn't sound like a very noble name, does it though," mused Terry, his eyes full of laughter, "Now presenting the Ancient and Noble House of Boot! To be followed shortly by the noble houses of socks and wellingtons"

He couldn't help but smile at the way Terry had casually brushed aside his noble status.

"That's always been a hit at those parties Boot," commented Daphne dryly, "It's like you _want _your father to disown you."

There was a sudden explosion of screams and cries from the Slytherin table. He looked around in alarm, only to find that every single Slytherin, including Draco, now had green, scaly skin. Laughter rang around the hall as the initial shock faded.

"They're starting early this year," commented an older student.

"Who are?" asked Terry curiously.

The student gestured to the Gryffindor table, where the red-headed twins he had seen earlier were openly being clapped on the back as the teachers glared at them.

"The Weasley twins," said the student, "Notorious pranksters, though they usually tend to leave us alone."

"That's because Pearce force-fed them the prank sweet they tried giving him," snorted another student, "Before Cooper turned them into weasels."

"Don't mess with our prefects. Got it," muttered Terry as he casually reached for another slice of toast.

"Even Snape doesn't bully them" chortled a third student.

"Snape? The Potions Master here, right?" asked Daphne.

"He's also the most disliked professor here. He usually reserves his ire for the Gryffindors, but there'll still be plenty directed at you if you mess up in his class," warned Emily, having turned around when her name had been brought up.

"Don't mess with Snape either," intoned Terry, pretending to take notes.

"He especially dislikes a sense of humor," replied Emily before smirking and turning back to face her own group of friends.

"I'm in trouble then," said Terry, alarm in his eyes.

"Oh I wouldn't worry. He's been glaring at Harry ever since his name was called out at the Sorting," said Daphne smugly.

"She enjoys my pain," he told Terry, his voice laced with sadness.

Terry snorted before voicing what most of the first years now had on their minds, "And Potions is the first class we're supposed to have today. This should be interesting."

Breakfast ended on that slightly ominous note for him. While he had gotten his fair share of death glares, to be on the receiving end of one before even meeting the person in question was new, even to him.

* * *

><p>(<strong>AN: The timetable is different here. That means timings, houses they're paired with, all different. Oh, and Snape is gonna be a little more realistic. I mean, he's a Slytherin. Head of the house. I'd expect him to exhibit at least a small fraction of subtlety and the like)**

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making."

_Well, that certainly set the tone_ he thought to himself as the hooked nosed professor swept through the classroom, already surveying the Gryffindors with a withering look, though he shot more than a few poisonous glances at him as well.

"Potions requires focus and patience. Traits that most wizards regrettably...lack. But the rewards are equally great. But first, a test. To see if any of you actually thought to open the book before coming here. Potter!"

He stood with a calm look on his face, rather glad that he'd read through the first few chapters of Potions at least. After that, he'd realized that without a foundation in Herbology, it would be very hard to make sense of Potions, and had shifted his focus to that instead.

"Sir?"

"Where would I look if I wanted to find a bezoar?"

Immediately the bushy-haired girl - Hermione, he remembered her name was - shot her hand up, almost bouncing in her seat in her eagerness to answer the question.

He resisted the initial response of "in an apothecary sir?" and instead thought back to the many classes taught by the rather...eccentric doctor at Gekkoukan High, where this had been touched up.

"Mostly in the gastrointestinal system of a goat, sir."

Here Snape was actually brought up short, as if he had not been expecting the question to be answered.

"Or as us lesser mortals refer to it, the stomach of a goat. Sit down, Potter," he tried to sneer before whirling around to face the Gryffindors. He felt like hitting his forehead as Ron inevitably gave in to the potion master's baiting and earned his house quite a few penalties.

By the end of the grueling questioning session, most of Gryffindor house looked dispirited, while Hermione looked devastated that she had not been given a chance to answer.

"You actually opened the book?" asked Terry, sounding impressed.

"No, I'd read about it elsewhere," he told the boy vaguely, though Terry seemed to satisfy the answer.

"Enough!" said Snape sharply to the class as he flicked his wand towards the board, where instructions began to appear, "You will find ingredients in the cupboard. You should already have the equipment required if you bothered to read through the list of requirements for the first year. You have an hour to finish brewing this potion in pairs. Failure - which I expect to see a lot of - will result in a written assignment where you analyze what you did wrong. Begin."

"Want to pair up?" asked Terry brightly as the class burst into nervous activity.

"Sure," he answered simply before gesturing towards the ingredients cupboard, "I'll get the ingredients, you set up the cauldron and get the equipment ready?'

"Sounds good to me. Between you and me, my mother is a potions mistress, so I'm quite at home when it comes to brewing potions," grinned Terry conspiratorially.

He laughed softly at that before moving swiftly towards the cupboard. Luckily for him, most students were still deciding on pairs, which meant he could get the pick of ingredients. He shuddered at the thought of the inevitable mess that would arise when multiple hands reached for the horned slugs simultaneously. The thought spurred him to gather the ingredients he needed very quickly. He was not a second too soon, as a large group of people were already beginning to descend on his location.

"Not bad," said Terry appraisingly as he inspected the ingredients, "Are you sure you've never done this before?"

"Most of it is just common sense you know," Harry replied amusedly, "Choose them if they're whole. Skip them if they look disproportionate, and if the instructions say 'dried', look for dried."

"Fair enough," agreed Terry, "But unless I'm mistaken, you've read up on some Herbology."

"Some of it, yes," he admitted, "Though eventually Transfiguration and Charms won my interest."

"Alright, the temperature looks about right," decided Terry, "Let's get started on this thing. If we do it correctly, it should only take twenty minutes."

It only took them twenty minutes. Snape looked positively ill when he accepted their completed potion and marked them, though he hid his expression quickly. Now his distaste seemed to be warring with confusion, though why the potions master seemed to have either of those emotions was never any clearer.

He was giving little time to dwell on the issue, before Snape dismissed them with a curt, "You may leave."

* * *

><p>It was a thankful group of students who realized that Snape's class was not a benchmark to judge all Hogwarts classes by. Charms was a joy for him, and Professor Sprout's sheer kind-hearted greatly impressed him.<p>

His first encounter with professor McGonagall, however, was less than satisfactory. The stern old woman was a master of her field - that he could not deny. And yet, she did not bother to point out the flaws in the book - flaws he only knew because of his own eclectic reading list.

"Isn't that flawed professor?" he had finally pointed out when Hermione had rattled off a long definition from the book about the importance of incantations and wand movements, and McGonagall had awarded her points.

"Flawed?" repeated McGonagall, her lips thinning as she surveyed him. The rest of the class looked at him as if he was suicidal, while Hermione herself was glaring at him with all her might for daring to doubt her memory. He might perhaps have felt something had he not been receiving far more potent glares almost daily.

"I assure you, Mister Potter, that Miss Granger's recollection of the definition is perfect," she said in clipped tones.

"Not her recollection, Professor," he expounded patiently, "I mean the definition itself."

"Explain," she had ordered him, her anger plausible.

"The definition implies that spell casting is impossible without an incantation to channel its power."

"This is correct," she had replied, anger fading out of her voice, only to be replaced with curiosity, "It is possible for one to eventually forgo wand movements, or speaking the spell out loud, but the incantation itself is essential, even if it is only within the mind."

He was now irritated at the innate superiority the professor displayed, the certainty in her voice telling him he was in the wrong.

"Then how can I do this?" he had asked her simply, before holding up the matchstick he had been given. He close his eyes, _willing_ the magic to do his bidding. He still knew the risks. The original mass could not be changed by much. His visualization would have to compensate for the non-organic to organic conversion he was about to attempt, and the greater the detail, the greater the toll on his energy would be.

Finally, when he felt he had gathered the magic well enough, he released it through his imagination and will.

There was confused silence as McGonagall stared at what he done in complete shock.

He set down the earthworm that now wriggled in his hand and looked at the professor, taking extra effort to ensure that there was no challenge in his eyes. He truly did not want to embarrass the transfiguration mistress.

He was mildly shocked when she had apologized, and spent the next half an hour breaking down the theory of magic for the class. Near the end of it, he realized that he had jumped to conclusions too hastily. There was an admirable mind at work in Professor McGonagall, though it had to be stimulated.

He felt less charitable when she had held him back after the class to inform him that she would begin giving him extra coaching after the normal school day was over, twice a week.

Another aspect of Hogwarts that he had felt less impressed with was what the Houses system bred. The fragile peace that had existed between Ron and Draco on the train was absolutely and utterly shattered within two weeks of them being at Hogwarts. In all honesty, he could not blame either of them. Gryffindor seemed to think in blatant generalizations, and referred to all Slytherins as "slimy snakes" or "Death Eaters" without exception. They seemed to take great pleasure in calling them out at every possible instance, though he realized a lot of it was due to the way Snape treated them.

Slytherin, on the other hand, did not seem to fare much better. Many seemed to mistake cunningness for cheap shots, and proactively needled the Gryffindors when they weren't responding to them. He was never more grateful to have been in Ravenclaw, as both warring houses tended to respect the Ravenclaws for their own reasons.

He supposed it was inevitable. Draco and Ron had been brought up on opposite sides of the fight since they were children. The only bright side was that they tended to leave each other alone, focusing instead on the others in the opposing houses.

Daphne had shrugged and told him not to beat himself up over it.

"To be honest, what happened on that train was a miracle in itself. At least they leave each other alone. That's something," had been her opinion on the whole fiasco.

He had resigned himself to the fact that he could not change the status quo as it stood now. It was as if the teachers never seemed to care enough to change the inevitable gang mentality that grew from both houses. Hufflepuff, while holding no great love for the Slytherins, usually left them alone if the same courtesy was extended to them.

Draco and Ron still spoke to him and Daphne, though as the days passed, the frequency of their conversations slowly decreased as they were pulled further and further into their own common rooms. He could not blame them. He too found it easy to relax in his own common room, or explore the library, or talk to Terry and Daphne. Most recently, he had begun to interact with Padma Patil, after realizing that both of them shared a love for Charms.

* * *

><p><strong>October 31st - Halloween Feast<strong>

It had begun a few weeks before, when excitement had started spreading through the school in anticipation of the Halloween Feast.

"I've heard the Halloween celebrations here are amazing!" gushed a first year student as she passed by him with her friend in a corridor.

_**No it's not **_he had wanted to growl at her, anger rearing its head so suddenly that he had stopped dead in the corridor.

_Why did I just think that? _he wondered, knowing that he had no reason to dislike that day. It was as if something alien had been planted in his head without his knowledge.

It only got worse from there. Poisonous emotions and thoughts swarmed his mind, raging inside him for entire days at a time. Nothing he did seemed to help. He had tried to meditate - to enter his mindscape - but he could not progress deep enough into himself without the alien emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Every time, he would withdraw when he reached that point, afraid of what would happen if he succumbed to those emotions.

He began to withdraw into himself, increasingly distracted by the chaos that raged within him. Entire days would pass without him uttering a single syllable, and if pressed to respond, he would excuse himself with a word or two. His friends were worried, that much he could tell even in his conflicted state. Daphne did not even attempt to mask the worry in her eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to assuage her. How could he, when he did not even know what was wrong?

And now it was Halloween Day, the day that sparked this unnatural state within him in the first place. Today it was worse than ever, as dark emotions struggled for control over his mind. He had left the dormitory early, in part because he had become too restless to stay in his room any longer. But it was mostly because he wanted to leave before Terry and Daphne woke up. The worry in their eyes only exacerbated his guilt. It was already clear to him that he would not be able to function for the rest of the day.

He went to the dungeons instead - the one place where no students would willingly enter. Snape usually prowled his domain with a ready scowl, but even he was absent today - presumably because Halloween required effort on the part of the professors as well.

He made it as far as an empty classroom before he collapsed, unable to take the strain on his mind.

_I can't do this anymore. I need to talk to someone. Anyone._

He had stayed distant from his personas during his time of weakness, unable to think of how they would react. But now, he was desperate.

"Persona," he whispered, gathering his resolve as he always did.

But there was nothing.

"Persona," he repeated, a little more firmly, as he gathered the feeling of resolve yet again.

Still there was nothing.

Now panic began to set in, as for the first time in ages, he felt well and truly alone.

"Persona," he murmured yet again, hating how his voice sounded like it was begging.

It never came, that cool feeling that flooded his mind when he gathered his resolve, the feeling that heralded the entry of a persona into his mind.

His head fell back then, and in a mixture of sleep deprivation, uncertainty, anger, and desperation, he fell into an uneasy trance. And for the next fourteen hours, he stayed that way.

* * *

><p>"Harry? Harry!"<p>

When he felt himself being pulled back from his sleep, he fought the impulse, though not very hard. Sleep had not been much better, as the nightmares continued to plague him, aided this time by the fact that his personas did not seem to responding to his call.

Had he lost them?

He opened his eyes reluctantly, only to find Daphne looking at him, the worry clear in her eyes.

"What happened to you? We couldn't find you the entire day!" she exclaimed, the emotion clear in her voice.

"It took hours of searching before we found you here," said another voice, and he turned to find Terry looking at him, looking a little worse for the wear.

He groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, the emotions resuming their assault in full force.

"What time is it?" he asked them quietly.

Daphne glared at him for a few seconds before answering, "Dinner time. The feast has already started."

He bowed his head, ashamed that they had missed it because of him.

"I'm sorry you're missing out on it."

"We don't care about that," snapped Daphne, "What we want to know is what's wrong with you."

"It's been pretty obvious that something happened to you at the start of October," continued Terry, "But this...this looks like you're bottoming out, man."

He couldn't disagree with that statement. Not when he had spent the day passed out in a dungeon.

"We want to help," finished Daphne, her tone now softer as his face took on a ragged look.

"I wouldn't know where to-" he began when suddenly, muffled screams reached them through the stone floor, followed by what seemed to be Dumbledore's voice yelling. The stone walls dampened the sound too well for him to make out what was being said.

"What was that? Sounded like something bad just happened," frowned Terry as he looked in the general direction of the Great Hall.

"Whatever it was, it sounded quite urgent. Perhaps we should return to the Hall for now," said Daphne hesitantly, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out what was happening.

"Too late," whispered Terry, terror suddenly entering his eyes, "Do you smell that?"

He frowned, wondering what on Earth smell had to do with anything. Daphne, however, seemed to understand what Terry meant, as a similar terror leapt to her eyes as well.

"Out. Now," she hissed, half-dragging him along with her. He stumbled along, his limbs screaming in protest all the while.

They had only just left the classroom when they heard it - a series of dull, thumping sounds, followed by growls, as if there were a beast near them.

"Oh no," whispered Daphne as they came to a halt. Even in his befuddled state, he realized that the sounds were coming from the direction of the staircase. Going by the way his friends were looking, heading that way now didn't seem to be a good idea.

Then he saw the source of the sounds, and suddenly, he realized why Terry and Daphne looked so afraid. Three huge, hulking figures walked towards them, menace clear in their eyes and their growls. Each dragged a huge wooden club behind it. They were ugly, humanoid creatures, but their stupidity was clear in their face.

"Shit, trolls," swore Terry as they backed away slowly. They were near the end of the hallway, and a stone wall was all that was behind them. Going back into the classroom would be suicidal, but this was not much better. Both were dead ends.

The first of the trolls was almost upon them, and looked at them for a few seconds, as if sizing them up. Then it attacked, roaring viciously as it swung its club at them.

Daphne screamed and pushed him aside before leaping herself, even as Terry threw himself away too. He landed painfully on the stone floor, his body refusing to obey his commands.

"No," he said weakly, trying to reach for his wand. Then he realized with horror that in his urgent exit from the Ravenclaw tower, he had forgotten his wand.

Daphne's scream had apparently attracted the attention of the troll, and it leered at her as it advanced upon her slowly. Now its companions were almost upon them too, and one of them headed towards Terry as he scrambled back rapidly.

He tried reaching for his magic, then, but his mind was nowhere near sharp enough for him to concentrate on doing anything with it.

"No," he said again, more forcefully as the first troll raised its club again, intent on attacking Daphne.

_Is this how it ends? Smashed against a wooden club? NO! _he screamed internally as rage welled up inside him.

His mind thrummed as his rage obliterated all other emotions. His entire being screamed one thought at him - _Protect your friends!_

"Get...away...from them," he grounded out, and his eyes flashed as he reached into his mind once again.

"PERSONA!"

He felt it this time, a being stirring to answer his call, his mind wiped clean by the fury that had passed through him.

A large arm wearing a bronze gauntlet backhanded the first troll, hard enough to send it flying into the nearby stone wall with a sickening crunch. The wall cracked from the force of the blow.

**Long has it been since your heart and mind were last united, my master.**

It stood in front of him, towering even over the three trolls. It was dressed as a Roman legionnaire, it's torso covered in golden armor while its hand held a broadsword.

The second troll roared with rage and charged at the sudden intruder that stood between it and its prey, swinging wildly with its club.

**Too noisy **thundered a voice from behind a golden helmet and it caught the swung club before snapping it in half, as it were naught but a toothpick. Steel flashed as the being struck with its sword at lightning speed.

Terry yelled as a decapitated troll's head hit the floor in front of him, looking fearfully at the armored giant.

The third troll looked at its two fallen companions, confusion warring with fear on its tiny face.

**You had trouble with these? **asked the figure, looking at him disbelievingly as it gestured to the two dead trolls..

"Shut it," he muttered, pushing himself against the wall in a seated posture.

The third troll had decided to attack as well, and swung its club viciously at the back of the giant's head.

Wood splintered against metal as the blow landed, and the troll roared in victory, confident that no being could survive such a blow.

**Treasure that blow, creature** rumbled the giant, turning slowly before grabbing the troll by the neck and lifting it, throwing it against the wall hard.

**There is no shame in losing to me** continued the giant as its grip on the troll's neck tightened.

**For I am Titan **finished the giant and snapped the troll's neck brutally before dropping the body.

"Merlin's beard!" came a shocked cry, and he turned towards the noise slowly, only to find all four Heads of Houses as well as Dumbledore looking at the carnage in the hallway with identical looks of shock on their faces.

Titan looked at him silently as he dispelled it, his body no longer having the strength to sustain the summon.

"Harry!" cried Daphne as his head began to droop.

"I'm fine," he muttered even as his vision faded, "I'm really getting sick of fainting though."

And then he could resist unconsciousness no longer.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**So, something has really been annoying me. This is an AU story people. A. U. So expect differences everywhere. Personalities of characters, differences in timelines, EVERYTHING. So stop telling me "Oh but this is different." That's the point.**

**Secondly, this chapter. Arisato is too often portrayed as being all knowing, all powerful, with nothing capable of moving him. Yes, he is insanely powerful. He is still a teenager stuck in a child's body, however. He's going to have his vulnerable moments. This was one of them, and will obviously be explained more in the next chapter.**

**As always, drop me a line or two! Reviews are fuel :P I'm really pleased to see that this story has over 200 followers already. **

**Until next time.**

**SK.**


	8. Chapter 7 - Explanations

**Sorry, I promised not to put these at the start of the chapter but this is important:**

**I'm looking for someone to beta/co-write the story with me. It always helps to have a sounding board when thinking of ideas. The person will have to be well versed in Persona lore, obviously. I'll have to agree with the style of writing (it'll have to be in keeping with the way I've written so far obviously). Spelling and grammar is also very important to me. If you're interested in helping me out, and you think the above requirements seem sensible, go ahead and PM me. We'll take it from there.**

* * *

><p>His mindscape was calm once more. This was the first thought that struck him when he regained consciousness again. After weeks of mental torture - for lack of a better word - he felt peace again, and welcomed it as an old and missed friend. He could only assume that his body still did not have the strength for him to awaken, so he simply stood in his mindscape, and enjoyed the calmness.<p>

**Master** came a deep voice, and he sighed. Of course the calm would not last.

"Thanatos," he said without much emotion in his voice. He still did not know how his personas would react to him. Nor did he know how to react to them. Why had they been so disconnected from him?

**Disconnected. A very apt word to use, in truth** mused Thanatos as it stood besides him, this time in its customary form.

"Changed your attire again I see," he remarked casually, grasping at his last few moments of peace. Whatever reason Thanatos was here for, he knew it was not for a casual chat.

**The hooded cloak was stifling and the scythe was inelegant. I did it the last time as a gesture to the Death in this universe. I certainly did not intend to make it my permanent appearance** came the reply, and there was an unmistakable sense of humor behind it.

_They really are affected by me _he thought to himself amusedly before steeling himself.

"Why are you here Thanatos?"

Thanatos looked around the mindscape calmly. In front of them loomed Tartarus, where he had stored his memories, along with more than a few nasty surprises for those who dared to force their entry into his mind.

**The phrase 'uneasy calm' applies very well here** remarked the guardian of the underworld as he continued to survey the mindscape.

He grimaced slightly. He knew it was there, of course. While the feeling of peace vastly outstripped all the other emotions, the questions were still there, eating away at him from corners of his mind.

What had happened to him?

Why had his personas abandoned him for so long?

"Are you going to explain?" he finally asked Thanatos.

The entity chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound. Death's grating voice was never meant to stray on the light side. But he had never believed in adhering to rules. It ran in his blood, as the wielder of the wild card. For potential to hold an infinite capacity, it would by nature exhibit a remarkable hesitancy in adhering to established rules and norms.

**This is your mind, my master. If anything, you should be the one to know.**

Thanatos was technically correct, of course. But before he could open his mouth to convey a rebuttal, the entity continued speaking.

**However, I have resided in your mind since you were but a child. Far longer than any of the others. The observations I have should be of some worth here.**

"Go on," he prompted, curious enough to grasp at any clue that could explain what had happened.

**You have always maintained a certain distance from most things around you. It is one of the reasons you have been able to take most things in your stride.**

He knew this was true. It had never been something he had to work hard to achieve. His mind naturally tended to maintain a cold distance from any information it was fed. It was why he had accepted the existence of the Dark Hour so easily. It was why he had been quick to understand that he was being asked to join SEES. It was why, in the hundreds of battles they had fought, he had acted the part of the strategist, identifying weakness and strengths and directing his team accordingly.

**But that has now become your undoing.**

He frowned. He could not think of anything that had changed to that extent. What did Thanatos mean?

**Your distance was always possible because you had an absolute anchor in your own self.**

Even as he opened his mouth to reply, Thanatos continued speaking.

**Can you truly say that you have anchored yourself now? In your body? In your identity?**

He closed his mouth, realizing that Thanatos had just presented him with the crux of his problem. He had told himself many times that he had accepted his identity as Harry Potter and everything it entailed. But he hadn't. He still set a distance between himself and his new identity.

**I see you have realized it. One cannot hope to be distant from one's own self and still maintain distance from everything else as well.**

He laughed out loud, for the first time in months. Even as he laughed, he felt a burden being lifted off his shoulder as his uncertainty faded, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. It was always the simplest of things that would act as the greatest stumbling blocks, for the mind was trained to look for complex problems.

"I've been an idiot haven't I?" he asked, though it was almost like he was talking to himself.

**You are human, my master. It remains your greatest weakness, even as it acts as your greatest strength. **

He snorted at the seeming contradiction, remembering the brief times when Pharos would appear, giving him cryptic clues to help decipher the puzzle.

**One last thing. We have arrived at the root of the problem, but there remains the question of the trigger.**

He frowned as the implications of the statement dawned upon him.

"I had assumed that they were one and the same. A problem, if allowed to fester long enough, would surely reveal itself at some point?"

**Perhaps. But I find it a strange coincidence that it began shortly after your encounter with Nyx.**

His eyes widened at the statement, but before he could go into it with more detail, Thanatos turned around and began to disappear.

**I believe the others can wait no longer to greet you** were its parting words before it faded from his mindscape.

They came, in a tidal wave of noises, and projected emotions, to the point where he was completely overwhelmed. The angels praised his strength of heart, while the devils and demons jeered at his weakness. Love, concern, indignation, support, every conceivable emotions he could think of washed over him as his personas talked to him in the hundreds.

He embraced them all, realizing just how truly they had become essential to him. Most people worked hard to get rid of the voices in their heads. He truly did not want to.

_Another madman in this particular world? Who would even notice the difference?_ was his final thought before his mindscape blurred, and he was pulled back to reality.

Reality greeted him in the form of two voices he knew all too well having yet another argument.

"Piss off Malfoy! Don't you have someone to torture or something?" yelled one voice.

"I don't need to torture your kind, Weasley," sneered another voice, "You seem to be digging your own grave just fine."

"Get a room you two!" snapped another voice, one he recognized as belonging to Padma Patil, "You'll wake him up with all that bickering."

"Little too late for that," he said, his voice hoarse as he finally opened his eyes and looked around him. He appeared to be in the Hospital Wing, a place he'd only had to visit once to pick up a remedy for fever. He was not too fond of any hospital.

"Harry!" chorused a multitude of voices, and a part of him was happy to see that so many had been waiting in the hospital wing for his sake.

Ron and Draco stood on opposite sides near the foot of his beds, glaring at each other as had become the norm. They quickly wiped the scowls off their faces when they noticed he had awakened, and instead smiled at him.

"I knew you'd be alright mate," said Ron cheerfully.

"Don't listen to him, he was looking devastated until Madam Pomfrey told us you were just exhausted," sneered Malfoy, "Glad you're still alive Potter."

Near his left, Padma was sitting in a chair. A book lay to her side, obviously cast aside when the bickering had picked up. She smiled at him slightly, an unusual show of emotion for the otherwise reserved girl.

"Glad you decided to rejoin the living," she said, before picking up the book and resuming where she had left off.

He chuckled, amused at how she tried to hide her concern. The chuckle quickly transitioned into a look of worry when he realized that Terry and Daphne occupied the beds next to him, though both appeared to be awake and uninjured.

"Oh we're fine," assured Terry, "Madam Pomfrey just kept us here because she's a devil in disguise."

"Well then, the devil will be sure to pick out an especially special-tasting potion for you Mr. Boot," came a brisk voice, and Terry actually paled in fright.

"Madam Pomfrey!" exclaimed Terry, attempting to bring a dazzling smile to his face.

"Stop that at once, Mr. Boot. You look constipated," said Madam Pomfrey amusedly as she walked swiftly towards the group.

"Well Mr. Potter," she said as she performed a few spells over him, "You appear to be healing at a remarkable rate. Your magic is holding strong. You body, however, exhibited signs of severe stress and weakness. What have you been doing?" she asked him sternly.

He did not know what to tell her. He settled for a mixture of puzzlement and innocence, with a healthy dose of tiredness thrown in for good measure. Apparently it worked, as she merely harrumphed before walking away.

"I'll be back with a few potions for you to take," were her parting words. Somehow, she managed to make them sound vaguely threatening.

"You're an idiot, Boot. Even Daphne knew not to mess with her," snorted Padma without looking up from her book.

"Not even the Slytherins mess with her," muttered Draco.

"It's common sense not to mess with the woman whose hand your fate rests in when you're ill or injured," sniffed Daphne as she nibbled at some chocolate. Somehow, she managed to make the act look dignified.

He smiled, watching as his friends interacted. The energy of the bonds that tied there were almost tangible, and he could feel the room thrum with its energy. This was what he had almost forgotten. Being in the presence of true friends.

It was at that moment that he felt himself completely accept his identity as Harry Potter. Harry Potter was no longer the abused boy who grew up bereft of any bonds. He now had people he could truly call his friends. And that was indeed the clinching factor, in his opinion. Despite his seemingly distant nature, he thrived on bonds. And now that he held bonds as Harry Potter, he could finally let go of the reservations he had continued to hold about his identity. He was Harry Potter, and Harry Potter was him.

"Thank you," he said simply, looking at the five children who sat around him.

"No problem mate," replied Ron without missing a beat.

"I just happened to be in the area," muttered Draco before looking away.

Terry and Daphne merely looked at him and smiled.

Padma seemed to be hiding her face behind the book deliberately. He looked at her, confused, until sounds began to emerge from behind the book. They were small, soft chuckles, but coming from Padma, they might as well have been raucous laughter. Everyone looked at her oddly.

"I-It's Malfoy," she choked out, still trying to control her giggles, "He's acting high and mighty now when he was actually one of the people who was the most worried during the feast."

"I did notice that, yes," replied Daphne, though she seemed to be more amused by Padma's reaction than by what she had said.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Patil," said Draco quickly, his normally pale face flushed slightly.

"Come off it Malfoy," cut in Ron, "You almost went into a panic attack."

"I think the sight of all that food sent you into a delusional fit, Weasel, You were clearly not thinking straight back then," sneered Draco, recovering his composure already.

He shook his head out of practice, but he was no longer worried about the bickering as he had once been. Ron was still miles away from overcoming his own set of prejudices, even as Draco was miles away from overcoming his own. But bonds were persistent in a very unique way. There would be change, in due time.

"I thought Daphne and Terry were the ones who noticed I was gone," he stated, curiosity in his voice.

"They were the ones who found you," corrected Padma, "The castle is much too large for two students to search the entire place. The five of us got together, figured out the places that would be quiet and undisturbed for the whole day, and then split up to search."

He nodded. That did make much more sense to him.

"Considering what happened to the search party that actually succeeded," grinned Draco, gesturing to the three bedridden people, "It's safe to say I'm not too disappointed with how things turned out."

That made sense as well. Draco was a friend, but a Slytherin friend nonetheless. He felt like slapping his forehead a second later when he realized he had picked up the habit of classifying by House as well.

"Speaking of what happened," began Terry and he groaned internally, realizing that four out of the five people in the room had not known about his power.

_Wait...some of the staff were there too, near the end _he recalled with a jolt, before groaning and burying his face in his hands.

"I do believe his head is finally clearing up," Daphne stated, fighting to keep a smile off her face.

"You knew about it?" demanded Terry, his eyes wide.

"You realize he'd been staying at the manor for a few months before coming to Hogwarts," deadpanned Daphne, before turning away as Terry almost swelled up in indignation.

"From what Terry described to us, it seems quite impossible by conventional standards," mused Padma calmly, "Summoning is supposed to be a myth, even within the magical world."

"Summoning? Yeah, that's in a few fairy tales innit," remarked Ron offhandedly as he tried to steal some chocolate from Daphne. The glare she sent him had him backtracking so fast he almost fell off his chair.

"There's no hint that even Merlin was able to wield summoning magic. And Merlin can usually do anything and everything. In the legends at least," snorted Padma.

"Dumbledore kept standing around last night, hoping you would wake up," sneered Draco, "I think he can't wait to find out more about your ability."

"Such information is earned," he replied calmly, "And Dumbledore hasn't earned it."

"You have," he continued hastily as Terry was about to speak, "But perhaps this could wait until later today? When we're not in the Hospital wing."

_When we're in a less public setting_ was the unsaid message, and everyone seemed to understand. It was hard to tell with Ron, as he now seemed to be looking for other sources of food, now that Daphne had scared him away from hers.

"Now then, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey briskly as she reappeared from her office, "These potions will help with the exhaustion you've consistently suffered. More accurately, they'll boost your energy while your body attempts to regain its balance."

"Pepper up potions," commented Malfoy as he leaned over to look at the bottles she was carrying.

"Indeed, Mr. Malfoy. One in the morning, and one in the night. You can come here each morning to get a new batch," she added, turning back to face him.

"Lucky bastard," muttered Terry sullenly, "That's one of the least disgusting potions around."

"Ah, thank you for reminding me Mr. Boot," smiled Madam Pomfrey before walking to him with a potion bottle, "This one is for you."

Terry closed his eyes and drank the potion quickly, shuddering as he handed the bottle back.

"You can all leave now," she said, upon which everyone quickly got up from where they were sitting. He moved just as fast. The unusual medicines he had been given at Gekkoukan High had scarred him very badly, and from Terry's reaction, it didn't look as if the Hogwarts infirmary was much better.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she called after them as they left the infirmary, "The Headmaster has given you permission to miss classes today. "For commendable loyalty to a friend" were his words I believe."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on it as his friends pushed ahead, identical evil looks on their faces. It didn't take a genius to figure out how they meant to use the free time.

"Breakfast first!" he called after them defeatedly before walking in the direction of the Great Hall.

* * *

><p>"Why call your power persona?" was the first question that came his way when he had finished his explanation of his powers. The one who asked the question was Padma, who looked confused by the unusual word.<p>

He froze for a moment, realizing that it was a name he had just accepted in the previous world. Both SEES and Igor had called the power persona, leading him to accept the name without protest. It was a fitting name after all, especially when he had read up on the psychological concept.

"My...past wasn't the most fortunate," he started slowly, resolving not to lie, though he could phrase the truth in his own way, "I always felt distant from others. My home life didn't do much to help," he added before considering his next words.

He had not lied yet. Being thrown into a war that would decide the future of mankind was hardly a fortunate past, even if he did not regret a minute of it. And he hadn't even had a home life, having been orphaned as both Arisato and Harry Potter. It was a small comfort, considering he usually disliked lying intensely. Or at least, he disliked lying to people he liked and trusted. In this situation, however, he could not think of what else he could do.

"That meant I spent a lot of my time reading. Psychology was one of the things I read about. Muggle science of the human mind," he hastened to elaborate, when all of them looked confused with the exception of Padma.

"My mother is a muggle. We were brought up in a fairly balanced household," she supplied in answer to his questioning look, "And besides, Indian magical society isn't as...withdrawn as what we have over here. Magic is woven much more deeply into our society. Most people are connected to it at some level."

"Muggle science? Seriously?" sneered Draco contemptuously as he leaned against a tree.

The five of them were sitting near the Great Lake, one of the few spots that was completely abandoned when classes were in session. The isolation made their chances of being overheard unlikely, though he still cast his eyes around their surroundings repeatedly. It was always better to be safe than sorry.

"If what I've seen so far is anything to go by," he said, "Muggles outstrip wizards and witches in several areas. Chief among them being the spirit of scientific inquiry."

Draco looked outraged at the very suggestion, but before he could speak, he cut in, determined not to hear a bigoted rant, "And before you start with your spiel, remember that you know almost nothing about the muggle world. To criticize something without even studying and considering it first is one of the most close-minded things someone can do."

Draco's mouth snapped shut, though the anger in his eyes remained. He sighed at the angry blond before continuing with his previous explanation. At least Draco appeared to be contemplating what he had just said. It was progress, as far as he was concerned.

"One of the concepts in psychology had to do with personas. The word in Latin literally means 'mask'," he explained, and even Daphne looked interested as she listened. His previous explanation had not been so detailed.

"I get it," said Terry thoughtfully, "These beings you summon are born within your mind. You said you have to accept them as part of yourself. So when you summon them, it's like you're putting on a mask."

"That's just cool!" Ron broke in enthusiastically, "You said you even have gods right?"

It was a loaded question. What one person considered a god, another person could very well consider to be a demon. The line was most blurred when it came to non-Christian entities like Shiva or Rakshasa or Vishnu, whom the Christians considered to be pagan gods, and by extension, heretical to worship.

"Sort of," was his carefully considered reply, which seemed to satisfy Ron immensely.

"So do you have Merlin?" he asked excitedly. The question drew the attention of the entire group.

"I'm afraid not," he told them, only for disappointment to shine clearly on their faces, "I've never formed enough of an opinion about Merlin. Mordred I do have," he added, knowing the last part was sure to shock them.

It did.

"Y-You have Mordred?" asked Draco, his face pale with fear.

"Indeed. He doesn't like being summoned without good cause, so I'm afraid I can't exactly introduce you guys right now," he said amusedly.

"T-That's okay. I don't think we really want to meet him," said Daphne in a shaky voice.

He rolled his eyes at the level of fright his friends were experiencing, before deciding to help them a little, "From the conversations we've had, I can tell you that the legend is pretty inaccurate."

"How do you he's telling the truth?" asked Daphne suspiciously.

"Two things," he started, standing up and slowly dusting off his robes.

"One: My personas don't and never have lied to me."

"And what's the second thing?" asked Terry as the rest of the group began to stand up as well.

"King Arthur was happy to corroborate his story for me," he smiled innocently as he began walking away.

The dumbfounded silence that followed was most gratifying, interrupted only when Terry lost his balance and hit the ground with a dull cry of pain.

He was beginning to regret his dramatic statement when, twenty minutes later, they were still force more information out of him. What made it a little more embarrassing, though, was that they were doing in in the Great Hall, at the Ravenclaw table, during lunch hour.

Ron and Draco had left their own tables in favor of sitting at the Ravenclaw table and interrogating him, something that drew intensely curiously looks from both houses. He had a feeling that the curiosity was more to do with the fact that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin were sitting at the same table, and less to do with the fact that they were both wearing extremely conspiratorial looks on their faces. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled more than ever as he looked at the little group, and he had a feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly what the topic of discussion was.

_Well, it's not exactly rocket science_ he thought to himself wearily as he tried to concentrate on his food. He wasn't very successful, especially when Ron was all but placing his face on the plate he was trying to eat from.

"We've spoken a lot today. I promise to tell you more later, alright?" he finally promised wearily, whereupon the group disbanded. All five of the others wore satisfied smirks on their faces. The sixth was just happy to finally turn his full attention to his lunch. Talking for hours had an odd way of making one very hungry indeed.

It was not to last, however. Only moments later, Professor Flitwick walked up to him to inform him that the Headmaster wanted to see him after lunch.

_At least I can finish my lunch_ he grumbled as he returned to his meal yet again. He was not a violent person by nature, but he had no qualms about setting one of his more frightening personas on the next person who tried to interrupt his meal.

* * *

><p>"That was quite the sight yesterday night Mr. Potter," said Professor Flitwick cheerfully as the two of them walked towards the Headmaster's Office. It had not escaped the Charms professor's attention that the way would be unknown to a first year. Flitwick had waited until his lunch was over before offering to escort him to the office.<p>

"I imagine it was sir," he said awkwardly, still trying to figure out what he would tell the faculty. While Flitwick was steadily earning his trust as a reliable professor, the same could certainly not be said of Snape. Dumbledore was someone he was still wary of, having almost no insight into the man himself. The previous encounter, despite being unpleasant, had hardly painted any conclusive picture of the headmaster.

Flitwick chuckled the attempted deflection, "Not to worry, Mr. Potter. I cannot speak for the other Heads of House or the Headmaster, but I will certainly not force you to answer anything, so long as the safety of the students here isn't threatened."

"Thank you sir," he replied, smilingly slightly as some of the tension dissipated.

"However, I am not Head of Ravenclaw for nothing. Be prepared for me to ask you many, many questions after this particular meeting. Whether or not you answer me is up to you, of course, but I would be remiss in not trying."

He chuckled slightly. That was a compromise he could accept.

"So long as it's not while I'm trying to eat sir," he retorted, sure that Flitwick would not have missed what had happened during lunch.

The duo stopped in front of what appeared to be stone gargoyle guarding a narrow, spiraling staircase.

"Mars bar," said Professor Flitwick out of the blue, prompting him to look at the professor as if he were crazy. The incredulity only grew when the gargoyle actually leapt aside, and the staircase began to move as if it were an archaic escalator.

"The Headmaster has autonomy over this password, I assure you," muttered Professor Flitwick as they neared a wooden door. He made no effort to knock or otherwise announce their presence, yet the door flew open, as if of its own accord.

"Ah, Filius. Thank you for bringing young Harry here."

Inside, he found Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Snape and Dumbledore sitting around what he assumed to be the Headmaster's table. He was surprised to find that Snape bore no open hostility on his face. If anything, he now appeared uncertain, as if trying to figure out how to handle him in light of recent events.

He could not blame the hook-nosed professor. Titan was an intimidating sight, as intimidating as finding three troll bodies thrown around as if they had been toys.

_Perhaps he will stop trying to alienate me outright _he mused as he slowly walked towards the table. There was only one armchair facing all the professors, so it was no great mystery where he was intended to sit. Even as he sat down, Professor Flitwick scuttled ahead to occupy his own seat near Dumbledore.

"Harry, thank you for agreeing to meet us," began Dumbledore cheerfully, his voice as light as if they were discussing the weather.

"Thank you for letting me rest first," he replied, recognizing that the old man had been considerate.

"I'm not certain things could have been different even if I had wanted them to be," chuckled the old man, "The infirmary is Madam Pomfrey's absolute domain. And I value my life far too much to challenge that."

He could imagine it all too well, an irate Pomfrey shooing Dumbledore away. She was quite the terrifying woman. The Heads of Houses seemed to be of a similar mind.

_I believe I've finally identified the dominant power at Hogwarts_ he thought to himself amusedly. He was not given much time to dwell on the issue, as the pleasantries were apparently over.

"Now, Harry, could you please tell us about what happened in the dungeons during the Halloween Feast?" asked Dumbledore cordially, though his eyes now grew serious.

"Perhaps explaining why he wasn't at the Halloween Feast would be a good place to start," said Snape, his voice laced with an acidic contempt. He merely looked at Snape impassively for a minute, allowing no emotion to cross his face. By the end of it, Snape was sweating slightly.

_Good, I was afraid I'd forgotten how to do that_ he thought before turning back to face Dumbledore and the other professors.

"It seems the significance of the date has left your mind entirely," he said calmly. Professor McGonagall did not take kindly to it, no doubt perceiving it as some insult, for she was quick to reply.

"We haven't forgotten, Mr. Potter. It is the day when this cursed war ended. Surely that is an occasion worth celebrating?"

"Of course professor," he said, allowing some acidity to enter his voice, "I'm utterly ashamed that I didn't join the school to celebrate the day when my parents died."

Professor McGonagall now looked mortified, and turned away, shame clear on her face.

"I believe that answers the why, and it is certainly understandable," said Dumbledore sadly, it was clear the events of that night still weighed heavily on him.

"Daphne and Terry were worried about me, so they decided to search for me. Draco, Ron and Padma also searched, but in different parts of the castle," he continued succinctly, not wanting to stay in the office for any longer than he had to.

"Which meant none of you were present in the Great Hall when news of the troll was broken to us by Professor Quirrell," finished Dumbledore thoughtfully.

"But what about the trolls themselves? How could three first year students take on three mountain trolls?" asked Professor Sprout, concern clear in her voice.

"Escape was not an option. As you all saw, we were at the end of a corridor, and going into a classroom would have allowed the trolls to corner us even more. Dealing with them was not exactly a choice, professor," was all he had to say. He knew Professor Sprout spoke out of genuine concern, so he answered just as sincerely.

"Now we come to the how, Harry," Dumbledore continued, his eyes now sparkling with interest.

"That is not a question I would prefer to answer," he replied calmly.

"I am afraid I must insist, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely, some steel now lacing his tone.

"Insistence is your right. Silence is mine," he said shortly, "I see no reason to reveal any powers I may or may not have to anyone. And if pressed, I will merely refer the matter to my guardian. My _actual_ guardian," he stressed, and Dumbledore flinched at the reminder.

"And what would you do, you impudent _boy_, if word of your dangerous ability were to reach the press somehow? You would need every support Hogwarts can offer to combat the stories they would come up," snarled Snape, now not even attempting to mask his anger.

"I am sure that the press would be equally interested in the fact that three of the dumbest magical creatures in existence somehow managed to find their way into Hogwarts, which is reputed to be one of the safest havens in Britain. Just as they might also find it a great coincidence that the trolls were present in the dungeons, which just so happens to be your domain, Professor Snape," he replied, fake surprise oozing out of his voice by the time he spoke his last sentence.

The potion master's complexion now resembled that of curdled milk.

"I have a question," spoke up Professor Flitwick, "Are you completely in control of this ability of yours?"

"Yes," he replied immediately, remembering what the professor had said about the safety of the students.

"Then the decision to kill those trolls were consciously made by you?" asked Dumbledore sadly.

"I was seconds away from fainting, and the trolls were attacking my friends. Had I know the faculty was almost at the scene, perhaps I would have acted differently. I feel no remorse in doing what I had to in order to protect my friends," he replied sharply, annoyed that professor Dumbledore seemed to be trying to take the moral high ground.

"In that case, I believe there is only one question left to be asked," broke in Professor Flitwick idly.

"Which is?" asked McGonagall, rejoining the conversation after a long period of silence.

"How many points shall we award Mr. Potter here?" asked Professor Flitwick, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"A hundred points for acting to protect his friends, I think," said Professor Dumbledore, looking almost amused at the outrage that crossed Snape's face.

"Well then, I shall escort you back to the common room Mr. Potter," said Professor Flitwick brightly, bouncing off his chair and walking towards the exit of the office.

"Professors," he nodded politely, before getting up and following Flitwick out of the door.

* * *

><p>"Do you remember what I said in the first House meeting we had?" asked Professor Flitwick as the duo entered the common room.<p>

"I do, sir, but what are you referring to specifically?" he asked, confused as to where this was heading.

"That achievements will be rewarded, Mr. Potter. And as far as I'm concerned, saving the lives of two friends certainly counts as an admirable act," said Professor Flitwick cheerfully, gesturing at Terry and Daphne, who appeared to be waiting for him near his room.

Now beginning to understand, he opened the door to his room and gasped softly as he realized his suspicions had been right.

His room was now twice its original size, with wall decorations hanging in strategic locations, and a large carpet covering the stone floor. The theme was still the Ravenclaw colors, but a lot of thought had been put into the decorations, making it a much more tasteful and pleasant room to live in.

"You may thank the seventh year prefects for taking the time to do this, Mr. Potter," said Flitwick before leaving the trio alone.

"Well. That was unexpected," he managed, still taking in the differences that had been made to his room.

"It shouldn't have been," frowned Daphne, "Our prefects and head of house aren't the type to let good deeds go unrewarded."

"I haven't exactly been the most observant person for the last few weeks," he defended weakly, but soon gave it up as a lost cause. He did indeed have to thanks the prefects, and soon.

"Your room really does look sweet," admired Terry as he walked around, trying to taking in even the minute changes.

"We need to step up our game, Boot. There's no way I'm letting this one take the lead," said Daphne with a straight face, even as she poked his side.

"Of course. But that can start tomorrow. For now...Exploding Snap anyone?" asked Terry, bringing out a pack of cards with a dramatic flourish.

It promised to be an entertaining evening.

* * *

><p><strong>Later than night<strong>

"M-Master, please, no more. I b-beg you," screamed Professor Quirrell, twitching uncontrollably as he lay on the floor of a classroom. His master had made him put him privacy spells first, before proceeding to torture him with a white-hot rage.

"Silence! I gave you one task. Retrieve the Stone and be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams," hissed a second voice, even though there was no one else in sight.

"Y-Yes, you did," gasped Quirrell as the pain stopped, allowing him to recover for a moment.

"Then why do I not yet have it," hissed the voice furiously, and he screamed as the pain returned, even greater than before.

"S-Snape stopped me, Master. There was nothing I could do while maintaining my cover," he whimpered, but the pain did not yet fade.

"Incompetence," said the voice softly, almost crooning, "It surrounds me. Had you found a better distraction, Severus would not have come your way would he? WOULD HE?"

"N-NO!" howled Quirrell as he was hit by a wave of pain that made all the previous waves pale in comparison. His back arched as he tried to wait it out, knowing his master did not now have the power to maintain the spell for long.

And it did, the pain faded, though the anger continued to scorch his mind still. He had made a grave miscalculation, one that would take months to recover from. Snape had no doubt told Dumbledore about his suspicious behavior during the Halloween feast, which meant the faculty would keep an eye on him, while Dumbledore would certainly increase the security of the Stone.

"One more chance, Quirinus," hissed the voice menacingly as it faded, "One more chance, and my patience will be at an end. Oh, and I have one more task for you."

"What?" Quirrell asked fearfully, wondering how many more near-impossible tasks he would be given.

"The Potter boy killed three mountain trolls, and you say that Dumbledore is being tight-lipped about how exactly he did it," mused the voice, and Quirrell's eyes glowed red for a second, "Find out what he did. Do it discreetly."

"Yes, master."

**A/N: I'm glad people have started taking the changes in stride. There will be a lot more, I can assure you. Voldemort has begun his play now, and things will heat up soon. But I don't want to do too many time skips, so expect a lot of slice-of-life type writing mixed in with the overarching plot. I'm going to take this at a slow and steady pace. Hopefully I can do that while keeping the writing entertaining at least.**

**An idea for a Mass Effect/HP crossover has been rattling around in my head lately. Depending on how this story continues to be received (in terms of followers and reviews) I might post that to see which one appeals to the audience more. I won't stop writing this story, of course, but the time between updates might increase.**

**As always, reviews are fuel. Ciao.**

**SK.**


	9. Chapter 8 - Testing the Waters

**Still need a beta/co-writer. Enjoy!**

"For a sec'nd it was like yer father was outside me hut, eleven years old again," said the giant emotionally as he found himself being ushered inside the small hut along with Padma, Daphne and Ron.

It was late November, and already the snow had begun to fall steadily, the lone castle now covered with a pure white coat of snow. The Great Lake had begun to freeze over, though the giant squid seemed to take great pleasure in breaking the surface ice apart with its tentacles. Lately, however, it had stopped, as if the cold weather was making it sleepy. He did not finding himself complaining about its absence. While heating charms ensured that he and his friends could sit comfortably near the Lake, it was not pleasant when small and large shards of ice flew in their direction.

"I'll just put the kettle on. A mug o' tea is jus' the thing for the cold. This 'ere is Fang," said Hagrid cheerfully as they sat themselves around a rough wooden table. Immediately a large bod began bounding around them excitedly, the intelligence in its eyes reminded him immediately of Koromaru.

"Hello there," he murmured, scratching the dog behind its ears to calm it down. It worked, as the dog sat near him, slobbering contently on his knee as he continued to scratch him.

_Definitely drools more than Koromaru_ he thought to himself amusedly as he looked at the hound. It looked old, very old indeed. But seeing the vigor that the dog still seemed to have, he realized it was some sort of magical species that had a longer lifespan.

Next to him, Daphne delicately brushed dog hair off her uniform, as she looked around the hut. Ron had taken to Hagrid from the very first day, and had actually visited the hut once before. Now he was doing his best to catch all of their eyes, miming what appeared to be a large lump with his hand before frantically signalling 'don't' at them. Daphne didn't notice, preoccupied as she was with studying the hut.

He and Padma looked at each other before shrugging, mystified as to what Ron was trying to communicate with them secretively. The redhead gave up when Hagrid turned back to face them, having hooked the kettle over the fire. He sat himself on a chair that seemed three times as large as the other chairs around the table before smiling at them warmly.

"I see Fang's already taken to ye," he smiled, gesturing to the large dog who now seemed to be dozing off peacefully on his knee. It was quite the radical change from the ball of energy that had been running around them a few minutes ago.

"What species of dog is he? He looks so old, but he's very energetic" he asked curiously.

"Oh Fang's just a boar-hound, but I've fed him on me own special mix of meat from magical creatures and 'erbs. Nothin' illegal o' course," he added hastily when Padma looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"No, Profess'r Dumbledore trusts me, y'see," continued Hagrid, his chest swelling proudly, "Told me I could take ye to Diagon Alley too. Tha' was before ye found it on yer own o'course. But I still went anyway, on business for Dumbledore. Top secret business."

"What kind of business?" Ron asked excitedly.

"Can't be sayin' much. Professor Dumbledore trusts me, see? There's not many people he'd send to bring a priceless item back to Hogwarts. And jus' in time too, someone tried to steal it the same day. Woulda succeeded too," said Hagrid loftily as he got up to bring out the kettle before proceeding to make tea.

"Trusted me to help with guarding it too," he said, a little less loudly, as if he were talking to himself. He was curious upon hearing this, but said nothing, respecting Hagrid's privacy. Soon, they found themselves looking at steaming hot mugs of tea while some forebodingly misshapen rock cakes sat in a plate.

"Help yerself," said Hagrid eagerly, gesturing at the rock cakes, "Made 'em myself!"

He poked at one tentatively after placing it on his saucer. After being more or less a human guinea pig when Fuuka had tried cooking, he had developed a very finely tuned sense of what food was dangerous, and what wasn't. And the rock cakes looked dangerous. Perhaps even lethal.

He discreetly placed his hand over the cake and vanished it. His tea he cotninued to sip, however, as it was quite good. Hagrid was too distracted by explaining the denizens of the magical forest to Ron, and his subterfuge went unnoticed.

"Now then," tore away Hagrid, "How are ye all findin' yer classes?"

"Most of them are quite good," commented Padma as she tried to cut into one of the rock cakes using a knife.

It didn't end well for the knife.

"Snape's a bloody git though," said Ron offhandedly as he gnawed on a cake, seemingly unaffected by the fact that none of the cake was actually being stripped away in his mouth.

"He's still yer teacher Ron," rumbled Hagrid disapprovingly, though it wasn't very convincing. Apparently the gamekeeper wasn't too fond of the Potions master either.

_I'm struggling to think of someone who actually _is _fond of him_ he thought to himself wryly. Save for Dumbledore, who was proving quite hard to figure out, he knew most of the faculty reasonably well, save for those who taught the courses that started from the third year.

"-and he took points from me for breathing once!" Ron was waxing eloquent, seeing that he had a very sympathetic audience in Hagrid.

"Harry," whispered Daphne urgently, "What did you do with your cake?"

"I don't know what you mean," he deadpanned, continuing to look straight ahead as he sipped his tea.

"Get rid of mine too," hissed Daphne, undeterred, as she flung the cake at his midriff. His eyes widened when the cake impacted on his stomach with the force of a blunt instrument.

Daphne looked smug at her aim as he glared at her, before he rolled his eyes and vanishing the cake. Anger wasn't an emotion he could hold too long, ordinarily. He had made an exception for the ones who had murdered Shinjiro. His nostrils flared as he thought of the artificial persona wielders, and he wrenched his mind away from those memories forcibly. This was no time for reminiscing about past mistakes.

"Ah, I almost forgot!" Hagrid exclaimed wide-eyed before reaching into one of the many, many pockets in his coat, "I invited ye here to give ye this Harry."

Hagrid brought out what appeared to be a small album, before giving it to him. He accepted it with some confusion, wondering what it could be. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw that the album was full of moving photographs of his parents. Who else could they be? The man's face looked like an older version of his own, while the woman's emerald green eyes made him feel as if he were looking into a mirror.

"I started sendin' owls out when you arrived at Hogwarts. I thought you might want to have a piece o' the past close by you," smiled Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes crinkling with kindness. He looked down, unable to think of what to say. Hagrid's kindness was almost tangible, and made him ashamed for doubting the giant man's motives. Hagrid seemed to understand something of his dilemma, for he felt his shoulder being hammered as the giant tried to pat it kindly.

He discreetly channeled one of his minor healing personas to work on his shoulder, all the while smiling thankfully at Hagrid.

"Now then, another cuppa tea anyone?" asked Hagrid eagerly, "We have plenty o' time after all."

"AURK-UGH-GRRH."

Everyone's eyes snapped around to look at the source of the unnatural sound, only to find that Ron was choking on a piece of the rock "cake".

He simply looked at Ron, mildly impressed that the red-head's jaws had been strong and durable enough to actually bite off a piece of the cake.

Padma sighed and got out of her chair after seeing that she was in the best position to thump Ron on the back.

"I'll get it," said Hagrid cheerfully before aiming a huge hand at Ron's back.

Now he sprang into action, remembering the impact of Hagrid's hand on his shoulder. But he was too late.

"CRACK!"

"I believe our visit just got cut short," said Daphne calmly, looking at the way Ron was knocked out cold against the wooden table.

"Perhaps now he'll actually develop some sort of filter with his eating," murmured Padma, checking Ron for a pulse.

"And the second batch of rock cakes were almost ready too," lamented Hagrid sadly. He brought out his wand and levitated Ron, before moving towards the door.

No one found the strength to comfort Hagrid, and instead chose followed him and Ron's floating body out of the door.

* * *

><p><strong>One week later<strong>

"So you're _sure_ you want us to throw every spell we know at you?" asked Ron dubiously as the six of them stood in the empty classroom. They had found it during one of their many walks through the castle corridors. It was perfect, as it didn't even have any benches, desks or tables. It appeared to be disused for quite some time.

"Considering we're first years, I wouldn't really make a meal of the phrase 'every spell we know'," Daphne commented snarkily as she drew her wand.

"I don't think we could call it an arsenal. Or even a collection. Although we do know more than the other first years. I'd put us on a second year level," added Padma as she got ready as well.

"Yes, well, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, I'll have you know," sneered Draco, striking an extravagant pose.

"Let me guess, pranks from Zonkos?" asked Terry offhandedly from another corner of a room.

"Bite me," snapped Draco.

He wondered if his idea had perhaps been a little premature. His friends seemed to have no idea of what a battle actually entailed, and seemed more capable of hurting each other than they were of hurting him. But he needed to test how far his body had progressed, and one of the best way to do that was the evasion exercise. He relied on technique and speed more than strength, making it essential for his body to be as nimble as possible. And he needed to know what he was up against when it came to spells.

"Anytime you're ready," he said clearly, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the din, "Remember the progression. Terry starts off, then Daphne steps in after a while, and so forth."

"This is going to be so much fun," grinned Terry wickedly, "_Rictusempra!"_

He neatly side-stepped the silver jet of light, thankful for all the time he had spent dodging arrows from enemies. The spells were a little larger and a little faster, but the principle held good. But Terry was giving him no time to rest.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

A red streak of light jetted towards him, much faster than the tickling charm. Fortunately, Terry's aim had been a little off, and he found it easy to move his arm out of the way of the spell.

"He doesn't look like he's having much trouble yet," said Daphne with mock sympathy as she stepped up, "Let's change that, shall we? _Immobulus_!"

His eyes widened and he threw himself to a side, breaking his fall with a roll. He still had no idea how large the area of the spell itself was, as it effectively immobilized his entire body.

"_Rictusempra!" _cried Terry again, and he swore internally as he rolled yet again, letting the charm strike the stone floor harmlessly.

"_Tarantallegra!"_ continued Daphne, obviously having no intention of stopping soon.

_She's enjoying this too much_ he groaned as he sprang to another part of the classroom. He was impressed at the progress his body had made, as it did not seem to be protesting yet.

"Alright!" said Draco loudly, "Time to show you how it's done."

His eyes widened in panic as he dodged yet another disarming spell from Terry. He wasn't sure he could handle three people at a time just yet.

"I think we should stop for-" was as far as he got before he found himself being thrown across the room. He collided hard with the stone floor, his breath completely knocked out of him by the impact.

Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position, even as Daphne wore a very satisfied smirk on her face.

"What?" she asked innocently as the others looked at her incredulously, "He hadn't finished his sentence yet."

Ten minutes later, Ron was still snorting with laughter as the group traipsed down the corridor again. It was dusk, and the corridors were beginning to darken, even as the torches on the walls burst into life, as if with a will of their own. He ignored the laughter, knowing all too well how undignified he must have looked. The satisfied smirk on Daphne's face did little to help the issue.

Once again, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. With just one of his lower-tier personas, none of the students at Hogwarts could beat him. The teachers would, perhaps, be a little more difficult. But he had middle-tier personas, high-tier personas, as well as the personas who were a class above even the high-tier ones. Why did he really need to study magic?

The answer was obvious. He had thrown everything he had at Nyx, along with his friends, who were mighty persona wielders in their own right. But all he had been able to do was seal Nyx. And that was when Nyx had no motivation beyond performing its function, much as an eraser was meant to perform its function. But now, Nyx had changed. It no longer held its former position, which meant it now had the potential to grow, as well as the motivation to do so.

He would need every skill he could master, but he had no illusions about fighting Nyx by himself even then. He intended to harness the power of the wizarding world, and magic itself. It was a fascinating force indeed, and he was steadily becoming more convinced that magic held great potential, just as his wildcard did.

"What is that?" exclaimed Terry suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts. The others had all stopped, looking with some suspicion at what lay ahead of them.

It was a spectral creature, translucent and shining with an eerie green light. It did not appear to be any creature he had ever seen before, though it appeared to be vaguely fox-like. The creature looked at them for a second, before turning and softly bounding away from them.

"Let's follow it!" decided Ron enthusiastically, bounding ahead to keep up with the strange creature. He followed the others in chasing after Ron, realizing that they were all curious to see what the creature was and where it was heading. Hogwarts held many secrets to unlock, who was to say this was not one of them? He was curious as well.

The creature was surprisingly fast, though from the glances it sent them occasionally, it was as if it wanted them to follow it.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Terry when the staircase they were on started moving, and they found themselves being directed to a part of the castle they hadn't come across yet.

"Be careful," he cautioned them, getting the feeling that something was wrong. They agreed with him, though their enthusiasm did not seem to have lessened in the slightest. Even as the staircase drew to a halt, the creature took off again at a much greater speed, heading towards a heavy wooden door in the corridor. It vanished through the door as if it was intangible, leaving them to follow it at a slower pace.

"Where on Earth is that damn thing headed?" muttered Draco as he tried to pull open the door. But it remained firmly locked, even as Ron joined him in trying to force it open.

They stood there for a while, waiting for Ron and Draco to realize that they had magic at their disposal. When the thought didn't seem to strike them even after a few minutes, Padma rolled her eyes before pointing her wand at the door.

"_Alohomora_."

Both Ron and Draco yelped as the door suddenly flung open, almost striking them in the process.

"Magic, boys," she said crisply before they trooped into the room, only to find themselves surrounded completely by darkness. The spectral creature was nowhere to be seen.

"What is that smell?" Daphne wrinkled her nose, even as the foul stench assaulted their nostrils.

"Something is very wrong," muttered Terry as he began to back out to the door. The door swung shut all of a sudden, engulfing them in the dark completely.

"Shit. Shit. _Alohomora_!" Terry's efforts were in vain, as the door remained firmly locked this time.

"Calm down, let's get some light in here first," hissed Daphne, "_Lumos!_"

Light began to fill the room, and it grew brighter as the others followed suit. But light, it seemed, was not meant to make their situation better.

"Oh, _shit_," breathed Ron when they realized what was causing the smell.

A three-headed dog towered over them, shaking its heads as if dazed by the light. All three heads were yawning, clearly still trying to recover from a sleepy daze. But even as it did so, a low growling sound began to emerge from all three of their throats, and drool began to drip on the floor in unbelievable quantities.

"A Cerberus," breathed Padma, wide-eyed with fear. Next to her, Draco appeared even paler than usual, while Ron looked like he was desperate to bolt from where he stood.

The monster was awake now, and the growling increased in intensity, even as Terry sent spell after spell at the door in a desperate effort to break it open. He drew his wand and began to gather all the magic he could.

All three heads began to bark now, and the Cerberus charged at them ferociously.

"Dodge it!" shouted Draco before throwing himself to one side of the room.

_Guess it's time to see how much my training with magic has come along_ he thought to himself as the three-headed dog charged at him viciously.

"**Push"** he growled, channeling energy into that one simple intention. To push the beast away.

The magic hit the Cerberus with the force of a speeding vehicle, sending it flying to the back of the room. Multiple chains jangled and groaned, and for the first time he realized that the Cerberus was chained to the far end of the door, near what seemed to be trapdoor.

_No chance of it breaking through the room to follow us then_ he realized and turned swiftly towards the door.

"Distract it for a few seconds!" he called to the others.

"With what? Our fleshy bodies?" yelled Ron, clearly terrified.

"Just send every spell you know at it!" he said loudly before turning to focus on the door.

"_Alohomora!"_ he proclaimed, sending his magic towards the door. But something battled against his magic, preventing it from accomplishing his task. Annoyed, he began to pour more magic and will into the spell, trying to break the opposing force.

"Harry! Anytime now would be good," shouted Daphne as the five of them rained whatever spells they knew upon the Cerberus. The giant monster shrugged off their spells without much difficulty, however, and was getting back up from being thrown across the room. Already its eyes were regaining focus, and the sheer ferocity and rage it now exuded was almost tangible.

He swore internally and redoubled his efforts, straining against whatever force was sealing the door shut. Breaking the door open was even less likely, none of the spells Terry had cast had so much as scratched it.

"Dammit Potter!" shouted Malfoy as he levitated one of his shoes and threw it at one of the monster's faces.

"Almost there," he gritted as the door began to tremble visibly under the pressure of two opposing forces.

"If I die, I swear I'm coming back to haunt you!" yelled Ron as he waved his arms wildly while zig-zagging between one wall and another. Now the Cerberus was confused, unable to comprehend the varied lights and sounds that were surrounding it.

"I said," he growled, "**OPEN!"**

The door flew open, and everyone ran for the door while the Cerberus bounded behind them to stop them.

"CLOSE THE DOOR!" yelled Ron as he threw his shoulder behind it. The others joined in, even as the Cerberus threw its heads against the door, the straining of the chains audible in the background. He pointed his wand at the door, repeating the spell he had cast against the Cerberus. The door slammed shut, and a click signified that it had locked itself again.

They stood there in the corridor, trying to catch their breath, He look at their wide eyed looks and shrugged, before patting Terry on the back.

"This one you can't blame on me."

* * *

><p>"What in the name of Merlin is something like that doing in Hogwarts?"<p>

Ron had recovered from their deadly encounter, enough to start gesticulating wildly as they trod the path to the Great Hall shakily. He himself was reminded rather forcefully of the floors of Tartarus. It appeared he would never be done facing down ferocious monsters. Or running away from them, as the case might be.

"Dumbledore has gone mad if he thinks a locking charm is going to stop students from trying to look," muttered Daphne.

"He's been considered insane for a while now," sneered Draco, even as he tried to stop his hands from shaking.

"Dumbledore is a bloody genius," snarled Ron half-heartedly. Apparently even he was trying to find a reason to justify the presence of a bloodthirsty, three headed dog in a castle full of children.

"Do you think this is what Hagrid was talking about? When he was muttering about bring something valuable and providing security?" asked Padma, already having gone back to her normal, impassive self.

"You heard that too?" he asked her, surprised. It was why he had hesitated in using one of his personas to kill the Cerberus. There was also the fact that someone had obviously trapped them, and it would have been foolish to reveal his powers unless it was absolutely necessary. Nor would it have gone down well for any of the teachers to realize that their guarddog had been killed.

"He caught my attention when he talked about how the robber would probably have succeeded," confessed Padma, "Because there was one near-impossible feat that was pulled off this summer, and if you take Hagrid's word for it, it happened around the same time as the task he did for Dumbledore."

"Right, I remember reading about that!" exclaimed Terry, "It shook a lot of the Noble families when they realized that Gringotts wasn't infallible. The only reason Gringotts didn't receive a lot of bad press is because they still control British magical economy with an iron fist"

"Someone robbed Gringotts?" he asked, slightly shocked. The goblins had appeared to be efficient as well as ferocious, a dangerous combination for anyone to test. Of course, nothing was truly infallible, he knew that better than most did. It did, however, speak volumes about the skill of the person who managed to crack Gringott's security measures.

"It was after we met at Gringotts," Daphne explained to him. He had not started following the wizarding newspapers until quite recently. Books had taken up most of his time at the Greengrass manor.

"Mother was wondering what to do about the family jewels for a very long time. She couldn't come up with a better alternative though," mused Draco, completely missing the "I told you so" expression that Terry made.

"Does anyone know what was stolen?" he asked curiously. Surely such an extraordinary theft would be in pursuit of an equally extraordinary prize.

"The goblins wouldn't say anything apart from the fact that the vault had already been empty. They also put out a bounty for any information about the thief or the thief's whereabouts."

It certainly seemed to be far from a coincidence, when one took Hagrid's words into account. But they needed much more information before they could form any sort of concrete theory. All they had now were vague and unliked bits of data.

'We need to talk to Hagrid again, see if we can't get more information out of him," he voiced out loud.

"Later. For now, I think food and maybe some dreamless sleep potions are the most pressing issue," stalled Padma. He found it hard to disagree with her line of logic. It was often easy to forget that he was now among friends who had not faced death hundreds of times.

_Although, based on recent events, they're certainly off to a flying start_ he thought amusedly as they entered the anteroom that led into the Great Hall. The lights and sounds coming from it were reassuring, and seemed to put them all ease.

"I'm guessing telling anyone about this isn't really an option," sighed Terry. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything else.

"Not unless you want to tell them how a mysterious spectral creature lured you into an area of the castle that was specifically marked as being off-limits at the start of the year," said Daphne dryly. He was inclined to agree. The story sounded quite fantastical, even by magical standards. On the other hand, a group of inquisitive eleven year olds poking around was a far more believable story.

He touched Daphne's shoulder lightly, stopping her from following the others into the Great Hall.

"I think we should tell your father about recent events, and soon. He might have some insights."

Daphne nodded sharply, "Agreed, but I don't think it would be wise to use an owl. Someone at Hogwarts is involved, remember the trolls? There's no way they got in on their own."

He nodded, agreeing with her point. Hogwarts was a vast place. It could be anyone, teacher or student, who was behind the troll incident. And if something valuable was indeed in Hogwarts, it was not unlikely that someone was also after it.

"What do you suggest?"

"Christmas break. You've been invited by the way," she added before smiling brightly and walking into the Hall.

He stood outside for a few moments longer, smiling at the fact that he had been invited for the Christmas holidays. Logically, how he was feeling was quite stupid. He had been around the Greengrasses long enough to know that they were fond of him, and he of them. Nevertheless, their acceptance made him happy. Then another thought crossed his mind.

"I wonder how Daniel will react when he learns about...the paraphernalia of wildlife wandering Hogwarts ," he muttered to himself, already amused at the thought of how the protective father would react.

* * *

><p>"I have done as you commanded, my lord," whispered the turbaned man, though his turban now adorned a nearby table.<p>

"Tell me about the boy," hissed the commanding voice, though it now sounded faint, as if the owner was very weak at the moment.

"H-He already exhibits considerable magical prowess, my lord. He was able to send a Cerberus across the room without using a recognized spell. That is almost unheard of at a first year level."

"_Curiousss_," crooned the voice, the desire it felt was almost tangible as the sound reverberated through the room. Quirinus shuddered. When Lord Voldemort desired something, it was not good to be the person who stood in his way.

"You will show me your memory of the event now," commanded the voice, and before Quirrell could even reply, his mind was torn apart, as if it were being pierced by a thousand swords.

"Ah Quirinus, relying on conjurations again I ssssee," sneered the voice after a few minutes contemptuously, having seen all there was to see.

"I had to do it in a way that couldn't be traced back to us," gasped the DADA professor as he tried to regain his composure. Having another go through one's memories was never a pleasant ordeal, and that was doubly so when Lord Voldemort was the reader.

"Oh, but I approve. Very Ssssslytherin of you Quirinus, I do believe the Hat made a missstake with you."

With a sense borne out of countless hours of punishment, Quirrell wisely chose to remain silent. That was usually the least painful course of action.

"Magical prowessss," contemplated the voice, "Yessss, that would indeed explain how the boy survived the trolls. A pity, I was expecting something more. All this meansss is that I must kill him before his power matches mine."

"Surely a mere boy could never dream of reaching your level of power my lord," grovelled Quirrell, now hopeful of making it through his report without further torture.

"Underessstimation is a mistake to be made once, not twice, you incompetent buffoon," snarled the voice, "We shall leave nothing to chance."

"What is your command, my lord?"

"Dumbledore will do our work for usss if he believes Potter to be turning dark. Point the child in the direction of the Ssssstone. We will take it from them, and leave them with the blame."

"I will see to it. That oaf Hagrid will be easy to manipulate," replied Quirrell, losing his frightened countenance as he spoke contemptuously of the half-giant.

"You have already disappointed me once, Quirinus. Lord Voldemort does not take kindly to failure," warned the voice.

"I will not," promised Quirrell, but by then, his master had already returned to his slumber.

**A/N: This update took a little longer, mostly because I had to visit a couple of universities, talk to people, decide whether or not to apply, and so forth. You can understand how that might keep someone busy. This chapter is just a little smaller than my usual chapters, but that's because this and the next one are going to be the lull before the next wave of action. Necessary, and hopefully, still a good read.**

**As always, reviews are fuel. And I need fuel :P Till next time.**

**SK.**


	10. Chapter 9 - Curse the Ball

**Still looking for a beta/co-writer. Might call this off, seeing as not too many people seem to be interested in volunteering. Enjoy.**

**IMPORTANT: A reader recently brought it to my attention that I've been alternating between the names Daniel and Damien (when referring to Lord Greengrass). I deeply apologize for this. I won't be editing previous chapters for a while, but from now on, ****I will be using the name Daniel Greengrass**_**.**_

* * *

><p>Snow billowed around the Hogwarts Express as the magical train strained against the howling blizzard. It was about a week before Christmas, and all six of them had decided to go home. Ron had grumbled immensely at that prospect, for he had wanted to sample the Hogwarts Christmas feast very badly. He had brightened up, however, when he realized his parents were taking him to Romania.<p>

"Never had Romanian food before. And Charlie's really cool! He's a dragon tamer," Ron had bragged proudly.

He rested his head back against the seat, glad that the train somehow kept itself heated despite the raging cold.

_Probably some sort of warming charm at work_ he mused as he made his move. They were playing Exploding Snap to pass the time, and his fingers had been singed once already.

"Remind me to teach you all this game called poker," he muttered as Daphne pondered her move.

"Poker? Like the fireplace appliance?" asked Terry, confused by the term.

"Yes, Harry's going to teach us how a tool is used in a card game," retorted Draco sarcastically as he leaned away from the cards, as if afraid that Daphne would fail.

"Oh, please tell us what it is then, Draco," snapped Terry as Daphne made her move unscathed.

"I only implied I knew what it _wasn't_."

"Prat."

"It's a muggle card game," cut in Padma, before the conversation could turn any more juvenile.

"What's the point of muggle cards? They don't even do anything," asked Ron, his entire face scrunched up in concentration as he added his card to the structure.

"They manage to keep you engaged without incinerating parts of your body," he replied with amusement, looking at what Ron was doing with some trepidation. The structure was becoming unstable now.

"I don't see how," declared Draco as Ron finally made his move.

"Well, playing with money tends to keep you hooked, burns or no burns," he explained, "Not to mention the game requires a fair amount of mental skill."

"I can't believe everyone will meet up during Christmas except me," grumbled Ron.

"Believe me, I would rather prance around a dragon reserve naked rather than go that Ministry Ball," shuddered Terry as he considered the card structure.

"There's a pretty mental picture," muttered Daphne, "Padma, how is your family invited? As far as I remember, Mr. Patil doesn't work in the ministry, nor is he nobility here."

It was a mark of how well they now understood each other that Padma correctly interpreted Daphne's question as curiosity, rather than an attempt to be insulting.

"Father is one of the richest businessmen in the magical world. Not to mention he IS part of the Indian nobility. All the ministers try to keep him happy for those reasons," explained Padma, reaching for one of her cards.

"The money alone would have done it, if I remember Fudge correctly," snorted Daphne.

"In any case, it's wonderful that the ball is a day after the Christmas celebrations. We can tell each other how good their presents were," said Terry enthusiastically.

"Damn. Now I actually have to put some thought into them," complained Padma, with a mock-exasperated look on her face.

"It's not all fun and games though," muttered Draco, "What happens in that one night could very well dictate how the balance of power will be for the next year. My father nevers lets that chance go to waste."

Draco wore a faint look of distaste on his face, which surprised him. He realized that while Draco would mention his mother frequently and enthusiastically, the same could not be said of his father. Perhaps he would be able to get more insight at the Ministry Ball.

"Mum's going to go mental when she finds out Harry is going to be there and she's not," Ron said conversationally.

His lips thinned slightly in distaste as he recalled the domineering woman. He was quite relieved that he would not be meeting her, though Ron insisted that she was a kind-hearted woman most of the time. Loudness was a quality he could never stand for too long.

"Is it equally important for us?" he asked, trying not to think about the previous conversation.

"Of course," asserted Draco, "It was in those occasions that I strengthened my position in anticipation of getting so"

"In your case, I'm sure your family name did half the work," snickered Terry as Draco's face grew pink, "I just went because they usually had a very good feast."

"Connections are always useful Harry," explained Daphne, "You'll see many there whom you might remember passing by in a corridor. Today's heirs are tomorrow's Lords and Ladies."

_Then I should take this occasion seriously. Hopefully today will help lay part of the foundation I need to form a coalition against Nyx_ he pondered to himself. This was far outside his area of expertise, as his previous life had require power and martial strategy, not political thinking. He resolved to talk to Daniel, as they had a little over a week to plan for the ball.

"It's not the most pleasant way to spend a holiday, no matter how you look at it. It'll be especially bad for my family," complained Terry as he placed his last card on the precarious structure.

"Why especially so?" he asked curiously, soaking in all the information he could.

"My family is considered part of the neutral faction too, though they've never admitted as much. They vote mainly on economical and educational issues. It's been decades since one of them voted on anything else," Terry elaborated, disdain clear in his voice.

"So Dan- Lord Greengrass will also face similar pressure then?"

"He's faced it for years," asserted Daphne, "This year will be no different."

"I wouldn't be so sure. From what I've overheard, the Dark will begin to make bolder moves soon. They think Dumbledore has gotten too complacent," warned Draco.

"Can't argue with them," sniffed Daphne as the game continued. The rest of the journey was spent talking about lighter topics, as the blizzard began to lose some of its intensity. The train chugged away through the deserted region.

* * *

><p>"HARRY!" yelled Astoria as she threw herself at him with all her might, making him stagger back slightly from the force of the tackle. Daniel and Isabela walked towards him at a more sedate pace, even as Astoria moved to tackle Daphne next.<p>

"Harry, you look like you've grown," commented Isabela with a slight smile on her face.

"Hogwarts food always did that to students," said Daniel, though his expression looked quite distant.

He rolled his eyes as he remembered what Daniel had said about his public mask. No doubt the Greengrasses were waiting until they were away from public eyes before exchanging their real greetings. Well, all save for Astoria, who seemed to exhibit enough energy on all their behalf.

The rest of his friends began to walk towards their respective groups, bidding their farewells as they went. Draco's family stayed the least amount of time, as his father grasped his hand and apparated as soon as he reached them.

"Well then, let's get you two home shall we?" asked Daniel, "I assume you've shrunk your suitcases."

Daphne nodded, upon which Daniel took her and Astoria by the arm before twisting into nothingness with a loud crack.

He took one last look around the crowded platform before taking a hold of Isabela's proffered arm. They reappeared in the living room of the Greengrass manor, and he took a seat immediately, trying to shake off the effects of the apparition. It was still better than the time Daniel had taken him.

"We should give the poor boy a few seconds to collect himself," needled Daniel, the mischief in his voice clear.

"Harry's weird," giggled Astoria as she poked at his shoulder. He rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge either of them. Soon, the sensation of being squeezed through a straw faded, and he felt himself return to normal.

Daphne had taken that time to tell her family about the highlights of their term so far, though a three headed monster and trolls were absent from her story. She gave him a meaningful as she gave her parents the safer highlights. Her expression was clear: _You can tell them about the adventurous parts_.

"Well then," Isabela broke off when she realized he was alright, "Why don't you two go up to your rooms and unpack? There's quite some time before dinner."

Both of them nodded and began to walk towards the staircase. Before he began to climb it, however, he turned to the adult Greengrasses.

"Daniel, can I talk to you and Isabela in the study? I have some important things to talk about. I can be there in ten minutes."

Both of them looked curious, but quickly nodded their assent. He sighed and continued walking up the stairs.

"Good luck," muttered Daphne before heading in the direction of her room. Astoria followed close on her heels, chattering away at lightning speed.

_You might need that luck more than I do_ he thought with amusement as Astoria showed no sign of easing up.

His room looked exactly the way he had left it, though it was clear that Prim had kept the room spotless. He wondered when the diminutive elf was.

_Do I get Prim a present?Would that even be appropriate?_ he wondered idly as he pulled out his trunk and enlarged it before setting it in one corner of the room. He freshened up quickly and changed his clothes, all the while thinking of how he would break the news to Daniel and Isabela without suffering grievous injuries.

_Well, no point putting it off_ he resigned himself before walking towards the study.

* * *

><p>"Let me see if I have this right," Daniel said in a deceptively calm voice, "Around Halloween, you had to fight off three fully grown mountain trolls."<p>

He nodded.

"Trolls that somehow penetrated Hogwarts' security."

He nodded again.

"Then, some weeks later, a spectral creature appeared in Hogwarts and made you follow it."

Another nod.

"This spectral creature led you into a room that had a Cerberus in it."

"A Cerberus that was standing on a trap door," he added helpfully.

"Of course. How could I forget the trapdoor," deadpanned Daniel before massaging the sides of his forehead lightly, clearly trying to process what he had been told.

"So much for being the safest place in Britain," gritted out Isabela as she clenched her hands.

"I feel like I should apologize for the troll incident," he said hesitantly, knowing he had to get it off his mind, "If I hadn't been where I was, Daphne would never have been in danger."

"Stop right there," Isabela said sharply. He looked at her, confused.

"Are you the person responsible for Hogwarts security?" she asked him. He shook his head in the negative.

"Are you the person who smuggled those trolls in?" she continued. He shook his head yet again.

"Then you have neither the reason nor the right to blame yourself," she asserted conclusively, as if daring him to refuse her logic. He stayed quiet, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"With that out of the way, we should discuss what to do next," Daniel brought their conversation back on track.

"I think we shouldn't make a move until we find out what the Cerberus is guarding. We know it had something to do with what was stolen from Gringotts," he suggested.

"As much as I dislike it, that does seem to be the best course of action," muttered Daniel, though his lips thinned at the prospect, "This clearly goes beyond some old artifact that needs to be protected, if someone was desperate enough to break into Gringotts for it."

"This thief might grow bolder and more desperate if the news got out. Dumbledore would change its location if it ever makes the headlines," continued Isabela as all three of them headed to the inevitable conclusion of their thought process. Say nothing just yet.

"BUT there's no reason not to collect information and evidence," interjected Daniel, "There's no such thing as having too much of it at your disposal."

He nodded, agreeing with the suggestion, "We were intending to investigate the Cerberus by talking to Hagrid."

"Good plan, if there are magical creatures in Hogwarts, Hagrid probably has pet names for them," smiled Isabela rather fondly.

"We'll see about securing owl post soon," added Daniel, before pouring himself a finger of whiskey, "Anything else to discuss?"

"Yes, Daphne mentioned that all of us would be going to the Ministry Ball," he began hesitantly, and Daniel nodded in the affirmative, "Well, I was wondering if you could tell me where to begin forming connections."

"Is this for anything specific?" asked Daniel curiously.

"I guess I've already started thinking ahead to the big battle," he confessed. It was a half-lie. They probably thought he meant Voldemort, when he himself was more focused on Nyx. Then a thought struck him.

"Actually, I can think of a more immediate issue as well,"

"What do you mean?"

"Sirius Black. You told me that he was one of my father's closest friends, and that he was imprisoned without a trial. The lack of a trial is rather suspicious, I was hoping we could look into it."

"Harry," began Isabela gently, "You realize the evidence against him is heavy? That he was a close friend of your parents just makes it all the more likely that he was the Secret Keeper."

"I'm not holding my breath about his innocence," he assured her, "I just want to confirm it."

"Fudge is too much of a jellyfish to even consider that," snorted Daniel, "That leaves only one option. Amelia Bones."

"Who is she?"

"The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," explained Isabela, "One of the few honorable people in the Ministry."

"She's dead set against Death Eaters, but isn't a Dumbledore loyalist either," added Daniel.

"I think I remember a Susan Bones? She's in the same year as me," he spoke up.

"That would be her niece, I think," mused Isabela.

"In any case, try to approach her at the Ball. I'm sure even she must be curious about the Boy-Who-Lived," grinned Daniel.

He would never get used to that ridiculous hyphenated title.

* * *

><p><strong>Christmas Morning<strong>

"HARRY POTTER! GET UP YOU SPINELESS WORM!"

He sprang out of bed as an ungodly voice echoed throughout the room, already reaching for the wand on his desk as he tensed for action. He was brought up short, however, by the sight of a red envelope that was shaped suspiciously like a mouth.

"Well, that should have woken you up," continued the red letter at a normal pace, "This is Terry. Merry Christmas."

The red letter burst into flames even as Terry began to chortle, and was soon nothing but ash.

He swore for the next few minutes, using every possible insult in every language he knew. Sleep was one of the few things he valued greatly and hadn't gotten enough of. Perhaps he would let Beelzebub play with Terry for a while. Purely for recreational purposes of course.

He groaned before coaxing himself into action. He might as well prepare himself for the day ahead. Astoria had grown ever more energetic as they had gotten closer to this day, no doubt eager to open her presents. He wouldn't be surprised if she was up already.

He was proven right when he found Astoria pouting heavily as she sat in the dining hall.

"Merry Christmas," he greeted. Sullen silence was his only reply.

"What's the matter?" he asked her softly, crouching to his eyes down to her level.

"I called all of them to open presents but none of them would come," she said in a broken-hearted voice. He glanced at the clock, which told him the time was six in the morning.

"Well it _is_ pretty early," he told her hesitantly.

"It's also Christmas!" she exclaimed, "It's not a normal day. So normal rules don't count"

That he couldn't argue with. Sighing, he held out his hand and summoned the present he had bought for her, before handing it to her. Summoning was one of the magics he used frequently and easily, after a point, finding it remarkably useful.

"I'll make you a deal. You can open my present now, and be patient till the rest of your family gets down. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" she chirped happily before taking the present and tearing the wrapper off. He waited in nervous anticipation, wondering whether she would like his present. While he had become good at giving presents after a point, children had never been in his life. He could not consider Ken Amada a child, not after all he had been through.

For the Greengrasses, he wanted to make his presents truly special. And the ideas that came from his heart all went back to Japan, a place he still considered home. Thus, when Astoria took out her present, what she saw was a beautiful, pink yukata with cream-colored petals that had been woven from acromantula silk.

"Wow," she whispered as she unfolded the yukata, "It's so pretty. What is it?"

"A yukata," he explained, "It's a very special dress that people wear in Japan."

She didn't respond outwardly, choosing instead to trace her fingers along the yukata.

"Do you like it?" he asked her hesitantly, wondering whether he should have gotten her something else instead.

His question was answered when she squealed before jumping up and running up the stairs with the yukata in her hand.

"I'm gonna make mother help me wear this right now!" was all she said.

He smiled, glad that she seemed to like the present. But then the gravity of the situation dawned on him. He was sending an overexcited girl to wake up her family at around six in the morning. The family which hated waking up early. He reached into his sea of souls.

_Thanatos, I need your help. Now more than ever._

**In this, my master, I must refuse.**

_Then I'm dead._

**It would appear so.**

Death came in the form of a very bedraggled Daniel. He felt like the only reason Daniel wasn't trying to kill him was because he too was distracted by the yukata Astoria was hold in her hands. Soon, the entire household was assembled in the dining room, and Prim began to hand out cups of hot chocolate.

"This looks marvelous Harry," admired Isabela as she held out the yukata, "Is this from Japan?"

He nodded.

"But why Japan in particular?" Everyone seemed curious about that question, and he felt it was best to answer it, as the others were receiving presents from his home as well.

"I've always been interested in Japan. I'd read books about it from the school library, sometimes I'd be able to watch TV while a Japanese cartoon was playing. So I wanted to make my gifts a part of what I liked." Well, going by his memories, Dudley would be watching while he would be trying to get glimpses from the kitchen sink.

"This really is an excellent gift Harry," grumbled Daniel, relenting at all, "Acromantula silk, you say? That must have been very expensive."

"Oh no," he assured them, "Draco's connections are excellent. The price was more than reasonable."

"That's right, Daphne's letters sometimes mentioned your circle at Hogwarts. It's quite...ecentric." The question was unsaid: _How the hell did the group come to be?_

Before he could answer, however, Astoria seemed to have decided that she wanted her other presents as well. Daniel rolled his eyes in mock exasperation before summoning Prim again.

"Prim, you might as well bring us our presents before Astoria exploded," he instructed good naturedly. Even Daphne looked up from her cup of hot chocolate then, the sleep fading somewhat from her eyes.

Prim soon re-entered the dining room, levitating five separate piles of presents. He idly noted that it took considerable skill to keep the piles separated while levitating them. But before he could pay more attention to it, a pile of presents had been placed in front of him.

"Let's open Harry's presents to us first," suggested Daniel as they looked through their presents. He took out the presents from the Greengrasses and kept them aside, excited to see how they would react to their own presents.

Isabela found three shrunken paintings in a small box. When she enlarged them, she realized that they were, in fact, animated in the style of magical portraits, though the art form was quite different.

"Harry, these look beautiful. Is this Japanese too?" she asked excitedly. It had not failed to escape his attention that Isabela seemed to be the art enthusiast in the family, and had scattered her acquisitions throughout the manor.

"That's right. We-The Japanese call it gadō, though it's unusual for them to be 'living' portraits in the muggle world," he explained with some amusement. He had bought two paintings for himself when he found out that the Japanese had their own form of moving portraits too. It would make a good addition to his room in the Ravenclaw Tower.

"I already know where I'm going to display these," Isabela murmured as she continued to survey the paintings.

"My turn," announced Daphne as she opened her present. She too had gotten a yukata, though hers was a dark blue, with white stars scattered throughout the robe, and a thin white line around what would, in England, be the collar. He had included, along with it, a dainty blue hand fan as well as a blue _wagasa. _

"Why didn't I get a fan or umbrella?" pouted Astoria, even as Daphne looked quite pleased with her gifts.

"I wonder if we should make Daphne wear that to the Ministry Ball," mused Isabela, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Mother!" exclaimed Daphne, her face actually blushing beet red, "You can't be serious!"

"I don't see why not," commented Daniel innocently, before taking pity on his daughter, "No, Daphne, I don't think our Ministry could take the cultural shock just yet."

"They haven't even gotten used to muggle clothes in their own country," muttered Daphne as she set her present aside.

"Alright, it's finally my turn," Daniel rubbed his hands together gleefully before opening his present - a rather large and heavy box. It was a stark contrast from the man who had looked murderous at being awoken early just half an hour ago.

He smiled slightly, confident that this was one present Daniel would greatly enjoy. When it had come to picking a gift for the Greengrass head, the first thought that had popped into mind was the drunk monk Mutatsu.

"Kubota sake," Daniel read aloud, as he opened the box and picked out one among the many bottles that lay inside, "Sake is a kind of alcohol right?"

"Yes, and that is arguably one of the best tasting ones," he told Daniel, pleased to see that Daniel looked delighted at the gift.

All three of them looked at him expectantly, prompting him to open his own presents. His eyes widened in shock when he opened Daniel's present - It was another book by the author Ignatius. He had never even considered the fact that this wizard had written another book.

"I saw how engrossed you were in his book, and how much it helped you, so I made use of my contacts to learn there was another one and acquire it," supplied Daniel.

He traced the title of the book _Magic and Energy_ before looking up with gratitude. He honestly could not think of a better present.

"Don't worry about," Daniel waved in advance, saving him the effort of trying to find the appropriate words of gratitude.

From Daphne he received a set of formal dress robes. He had been confused, until it struck him that he hadn't yet thought about what he would wear to the Ministry Ball.

"Wouldn't want you to end up wearing the school uniform would we," was her way of telling him that he was welcome.

Isabela and Astoria had apparently banded together to get him a holster for his wand, as well as a wand maintenance kit.

"One of Daphne's letters mentioned how you were always misplacing it, so we thought this holster would help you with that," smiled Isabela. He ignored Astoria's laughter at his clumsiness with dignity as he strapped the holster to his forearm.

"A flick of your wrist will summon er...Satan," began Isabela, and he could tell she was still a little unnerved by the core of his wand, "And to return it to the holster, merely make that specific motion again. Each holster identifies its particular wand somehow, otherwise it would be summoning every wand in its proximity to itself."

"That will help. But if you think he'll stop misplacing it, you're sorely mistaken," Daphne interjected dryly.

"Alright!" exclaimed Astoria before he could respond, "Let's unwrap the other presents now!"

For the next forty five minutes, the dining room found itself being covered with torn wrapping paper. It was a mark of how different house elves fundamentally were that Prim looked delighted at the prospect of having to clean up the mess, as if that had been the family's christmas present to her.

* * *

><p><strong>December 27 - Evening<strong>

"For the last time Harry, _you don't have to dance_!" exclaimed Isabela exasperatedly as he pulled at his collar uncomfortably. The dress robes were stifling and uncomfortable, too stifling, even when compared to the school robes he had been wearing for a few months.

He gathered all the dignity he could muster before walking towards the fireplace, still harboring his doubts about whether the Greengrasses were being entirely truthful. It was a ball, which traditionally required people to dance. Though as Daphne pointed out -

"We're eleven years old! Even wizarding noble society won't make us waltz yet!"

"Well they sure make us do everything else," was all he muttered in reply as Daniel joined them after placating Astoria in her room. Prim would watch over her while they were gone. She did not take kindly to not being allowed to attend a party, and had to be placated with the promise of a day in Diagon Alley before he returned to Hogwarts.

"Alright Harry, the minister is going to be all over you for the press. Commit yourself to nothing, and make your sentences as vague as possible. That should get you through tonight," Daniel advised, though his eyes gave away the amusement he felt at the situation.

"And don't forget, keep an eye out for Amelia Bones. She's much more likely to be receptive to your advances. Your father was one of her best employees," added Isabela as Damien threw some Floo powder into the fire, and the fire roared to life in an unearthly shade of green.

"So long as the Floo journey doesn't shake it out of my memory," was all he had time to say before he was pushed towards the fireplace to take his turn.

The travel didn't make him forget, though it wasn't for lack of trying on the Floo network's part. It took a lot of his athletic ability to remain standing when he emerged at the other end, where ushers seemed to be standing ready to dispel the soot and ash on his robes. It was a surprisingly thoughtful bit of organization on the Ministry's part.

Soon, the others came through as well, and together they were shown the way to the main hall where the Ball was being held. Uniformed wizards seemed to patrolling the corridors, though he was surprised to see that no measures were being taken to secure the wands of the guests. Daniel looked amused when he asked about the security measures.

"Yes, it would be a very smart move indeed to imply to the most powerful people in magical Britain that we don't trust them with a wand. Fudge would be thrown out of office before he could blink. No, this place is secured by the Aurors and the fact that no noble would be stupid enough to cause a commotion here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, attempting anything stupid here would bring down the wrath of the most powerful people in Britain, and quite a few foreign dignitaries as well. You would be destroyed."

It made sense, he had to agree.

"Although it was quite different when Voldemort was actively trying to usurp the ministry," continued Daniel, "At one point, old Bagnold stopped these balls altogether. It was one of his better decisions."

That made sense as well. He suddenly found himself thinking of a powerful Machiavellian image where the rich and powerful whispered and plotted.

_I hope that isn't an accurate picture of what happens here_ he thought just as an attendant pushed the door to the grand hall open, and a wave of colors, noises and smells hit them with considerable force.

"Welcome to the elite club Harry," Daniel said dryly before walking into the wall. Immediately he was surrounded by people, welcoming him, shaking his hand, and speaking all at once.

"That, Harry, is one of the downfalls of being the power behind wizarding Britain's major newspaper," Isabela winked almost imperceptibly before she headed towards Daniel, turning many heads as she went.

"Come on, if the last year is anything to go by, the children will be by the food tables," Daphne gestured before moving through a throng of adults.

"Harry!" exclaimed Terry as he bounded in front of them with little to no concern about decorum. He found himself liking Terry even more.

"Terry, how was Christmas?" he asked as the three of them continued making their way towards the food.

"It went well. We hang out boots instead of stockings," joked Terry, "Thank you for the muggle puzzles by the way. They have some really good numerical ones."

"You gave him something muggle for Christmas, Potter?' came a sneering voice.

"Good evening to you as well, Malfoy," he replied without missing a beat.

"At least you put more thought into my present," continued the blonde boy as he joined the group.

"What did you get him, a signed copy of the Pureblood Manifesto?" snickered Terry, only to receive a death glare from Malfoy.

As they got to the tables, he was surprised to see that quite a few of the dishes seemed to carry dragon meat as the primary ingredient. He saw dragon steaks, dragon liver and dragon tongue, among many other things.

"This is your first time coming across dragon meat isn't it?" Terry's eyes sparkled with mischief, "They're quite the delicacy in the wizarding world. Please, try some."

"We eat dragon once a month at least," Draco announced haughtily before serving some of the dragon liver onto his plate.

_Well, it can't be worse than the odd morsels I came across in Tartarus_ he told himself before heading towards the dragon steak. He was stopped, however, when Kohryu, the celestial dragon, and the ultimate persona of the Hierophant Arcana entered his mind.

**I feel a sudden need to share a thought, my master.**

_What is it, Kohryu?_

**Dragons, too, enjoy eating human meat.**

_I sense discontent somewhere in there_

**I am glad to see your senses remain sharp.**

He sighed and opted for the chicken either.

"Coward," snorted Terry. If only he knew. Apparently Kohryu did not take kindly to his kin being eaten, even if they were only his kin in name.

"Harry, there's Padma. She seems to be calling you," pointed out Daphne. Even as she did so, the music suddenly rose to a higher volume, and the adults began to dance. He shook his head, amused by how out-of-date the dance and music were. He walked over to where Padma was standing with her twin, and a boy he vaguely recognized as being from Gryffindor.

"HARRY POTTER!" squealed the twin, Parvati, drawing curious looks from nearby people, "I still can't believe you're friends with my sister. And oh, you dress well too! This is incredible!"

He blinked, not sure how to respond to that. He was saved the trouble of doing so, however, when Padma rolled her eyes and introduced him to the boy with her.

"Harry, this is Neville Longbottom. You've probably seen him with Gryffindor house."

"I have," he nodded, "Pleasure to meet you, Neville."

"I-I heard you were injured a few months back. Alright y-you alright?" the boy asked timidly, stuttering slightly. His face was filled with genuine concern, however, and he felt himself liking Neville already.

"Of course, it was nothing too serious. Thank you for asking," he reassured Neville.

"Neville has been asking about you for ages," cut in Parvati, "He's just been too shy to talk to you."

Neville went even redder with embarrassment.

"Is there any reason in particular why you wanted to speak with me?" he asked Neville curiously.

"I...the Longbottoms and Potters have always been friends. M-my mother was your godmother, you see," Neville said, his eyes downcast.

Daphne nudged him sharply, "Don't ask him about his parents. I'll tell you later," she whispered.

"Well, in that case, we're brothers of sorts," he replied brightly, wanting to snap Neville out of the depressed state he was in.

"Y-You want to be friends with me?"

"Of course I do. We can talk more when we're back in Hogwarts if you like?"

"Sure," replied Neville, looking extremely happy.

"Oh great. Here comes the biggest clown in the kingdom," muttered Padma.

There was a flurry of activity around them as a portly man bounced towards them, holding a jarringly green bowler hat in his hands. Flanking him were two aurors who appeared to be doing their best to blend with the crowd. He felt like they would have had better luck if they hadn't been wearing their uniforms.

"Harry m'boy!" boomed the man - who he was reasonably certain was Cornelius Fudge - boisterously as the trio drew close.

"Such a pleasure to meet the Boy-Who-Lived," Fudge smiled widely, holding out his hand. He hesitantly shook the proffered hand, only to be pulled into a nearly minute-long handshake.

"A pleasure to meet you, minister," he said tersely. Public speaking was certainly not his forte, and every eye in the room was currently resting on him and Fudge.

It came as a huge relief then, when he suddenly heard a voice say, "Ah, Harry. I'm delighted to see you've already met Cornelius."

_Thank God Dumbledore is here. I never thought I would say those words _he thought with some amusement as the focus shifted to Dumbledore and Fudge instead, two of the most powerful figures in Magical Britain meeting again.

As people started to drift closer to Dumbledore and Fudge, who were now exchanging pleasantries, he slowly began to back away, using the crowd to try and hide himself from the minister's sight.

Suddenly, he felt himself collide hard with someone who was standing behind him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized as he staggered away. When he collected himself, he noticed something strange about the person he had collided with.

The man was wearing plain robes, and looked to be a ministry employee of some kind. But what struck him was how the man's eyes looked completely and utterly empty, as if his mind was absent. Even as he looked however, the man reached inside his pocket and pulled out his wand, before pointing it at Harry saying the two most dreaded words in the magical world

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I like cliffies. Hope you enjoy the latest chapter. I was very pleased with the milestones the last chapter crossed. 100 reviews, 270+ followers, and 200+ favorites. It's the reviews that mean the most to me, but thank you for all three milestones!**

**Reviews are fuel. Just keep sending them in. Forever.**

**SK.**


	11. Chapter 10 - Denouvement

**Still looking for a beta/co-writer. Also, to make spells more noticeable, they will hereby follow the format you see the killing curse in below. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Avada Kedavra<strong>__!"_

His body had tensed by the time the man had drawn his wand. He was already in motion by the time the wand was levelled in his direction. First, he grabbed the wizard's wrist and brought it up to the ceiling. It was the ceiling that the sickly green killing curse hit, gouging out parts of it even as the people standing underneath jumped away in fright.

Already his right hand was in motion, as he brought it underneath the elbow of the hand he had grabbed, before hitting it with a powerful wave of magic. The elbow snapped loudly and cleanly as he let the hand drop. It would be useless for now. Then his newly liberated left hand aimed for the throat, and hit it with enough force to disable breathing for a few seconds, but not enough to crush the windpipe.

He staggered away then, and his senses began to speak to him once more, as his brain tried to re-engage its higher functions. He heard screaming, even as most of the Aurors on duty surrounded him, protecting him from further harm, while other sealed the exits. One shot ropes at the attacker to restrain him, before leading him away. His body felt light and his limbs trembled, not as used to the after effects of adrenaline as his old body had been.

Now Daniel was at his side, gripping his arms tightly, almost painfully, as he felt himself being shaken. Why was he shaking him? Why was he-

"Harry!" exclaimed Daniel, slapping him sharply, and suddenly the world was brought back into clear, painful focus.

"I'm fine now," he managed, as the lightness and trembling in his body began to fade.

_This is bad. I forgot that the body affects the mind, and this could potentially kill me next time. What if there had been more attackers? I would have been too light-headed to deal with them._

Daniel ignored him, instead choosing to grab a nearby glass from the table; a glass that was filled with a golden liquid.

"Firewhisky. Take a sip," he instructed in a tone that left no room for disagreement. Now Isabela and Daphne were by his side, and so were Terry and Padma. Even as he grimaced at the fiery sensation of the liquid as it coursed through his throat, he saw Draco being held by a woman - probably his mother - even as his father argued with an Auror, presumably wanting to leave the hall.

"That tasted awful," he managed to say, and the people around him began to relax, though many still looked deathly pale at what had almost transpired.

"Lord Greengrass, Director Bones would like us to escort Mr. Potter to a secure location," intervened a dark, deep-voiced auror, his voice calm even amidst the chaos.

"Then we will take him back to Greengrass Manor, where the wards will secure him better than any Ministry location," replied Daniel coldly. The auror hesitated for a moment, before looking in his direction.

"I believe Director Bones will want to speak to him later at the manor. Is this acceptable?"

He nodded once to indicate his consent, even as he felt the alcohol heat him up, his limbs regaining their strength. Already the analytical portion of his brain was at work, telling him that this was an excellent chance to make contact with the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. It would be a key foothold to have in any plans he would make in the future.

"We'll contact you later," whispered Padma before the Auror led the Greengrass party to the door, passing by a stern, bespectacled woman who looked at them for an instant before turning back to the crowd, which was beginning to get mutinous. The doors were opened, provoking further outrage from the crowd. The last thing he saw as Daniel grabbed his hand was the door being resealed, even as the stern woman drew her wand.

And then the world spun out of focus, making him feel like he was being forced through a thin straw.

* * *

><p>"Harry, meet Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," introduced Daniel.<p>

It had been only forty-five minutes later when the stern woman he had seen at the Ball Floo'ed into the study, where he had been trying to convince the others that he was fine. The ruckus caused by their arrival had drawn Astoria's attention, and Daphne had to be sent with her to keep her engaged. She had complied and led her sister away from the study, but not before giving him a look that told him she expected a full account of what would happen later.

_Well, that was the exact same look that Terry and Padma were giving me too_ he thought to himself wryly, already resigning himself to giving another monologue to his group of friends when they met again at Hogwarts. It seemed his tales of near-death encounters would become something of a tradition within their group. Well, it would certainly be more exciting that spinning a bottle.

Then Daniel had altered the wards in the Manor to allow the people from law enforcement to come through, his his hand kept going to his pocket nervously, no doubt ready to draw his wand should the need arise. Isabela had asked Prim to bring in a pot of tea, for him as well as the visitors who would inevitably arrive in due time.

"Daniel," he said thoughtfully, "We should take advantage of this meeting, don't you think?"

Daniel looked startled, as if strategy had not been in his mind at the moment.

_Well, that's natural. I'm probably the odd one out for thinking ahead already_ he mused as Isabela contemplated the idea.

"He's not wrong Daniel, Bones is famous for not taking any meetings in any political capacity unless absolutely necessary. She probably wouldn't consider what we have to say unless we initiate something today," she said finally, though she cast a worried look in his direction, as if wondering why he wasn't in shock still.

"Maybe," muttered Daniel, "But don't even attempt to manipulate her. She'll sniff it out in an instant. Hit her with the facts and let them do the work."

He nodded. He wasn't too fond of manipulating people, so to do some straight talking would be a welcome change.

The next few minutes passed with him sipping at his tea, while Isabela and Daniel merely looked contemplative. Then the Floo roared to life again, and the deep voiced Auror they had encountered before stepped through the fireplace first, before being followed by Madam Bones.

"Lord Greengrass, thank you for meeting with us," said the Auror, before Madam Bones looked at him.

"That will be all, Kingsley. Continue investigating at the scene."

The Auror wordlessly threw some Floo powder into the fire and disappeared as fast as he had arrived, leaving them alone with Madam Bones.

"Madam Bones, welcome to Greengrass Manor," intoned Daniel formally, back in his aristocratic mode as he led the woman to a seat where all the inhabitants of the room could see and converse with her easily.

"Thank you, Lord Greengrass. Mister Potter, I must offer my deepest apologies for the incident. Security for the event was my responsibility, and we failed."

"Indeed," chimed in Isabela, her voice stiff as she surveyed surveyed the Director of Law Enforcement. Madam Bones stiffened, but otherwise gave no indication that she heard the implied accusation.

He shook his head wearily, remembering what Daniel had said before they had entered the ballroom, "No, Madam Bones. Dan-Lord Greengrass told me you weren't permitted to implement all the security measures you wanted to. I don't blame you or your aurors."

"That's..very kind. Of both you and Lord Greengrass," Amelia replied cautiously, as if she was suspecting a trap of some kind.

_She must be used to nobles attacking her at every possible turn_ he realized.

"And that will be what my quote to the daily newspapers shall be, that I don't hold your department responsible," he continued, smiling internally as he watched her suspicion grow.

_Feed the tower of suspicion, then destroy it in one fell swoop_ he thought to himself, remembering his observations with the wily businessman Tanaka. Daniel shot him a mildly surprised look at his proactive statement, but gave a nod of approval a few seconds later.

"May I know why, Mr. Potter?" Madam Bones asked stiffly, a trace of suspicion unable to be kept out of her tone.

"Why would I take action against your department?" he countered simply.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have the knowledge that you weren't able to organize security efficiently because the nobles blocked a lot of your suggestions. Knowing this, why would I blame you?"

"That...is a good question," admitted Amelia reluctantly, and her body language eased slightly.

"It is indeed," agreed Daniel amicably, "Well then, Madam Bones, will that be all?"

He stood, giving every appearance of being content if the meeting ended on that note. Amelia stood up quickly, clearly uneasy to be in a situation where she was in a debt.

"Yes, Lord Greengrass. And again, I offer my apologies as well as my thanks."

He stood as well, knowing this was the moment to plant the seed.

"One moment, Madam Bones. I wanted to point out an irregularity that I came across when researching my family," he said serenely, stopping her in her tracks.

"Oh?" she asked curiously, though the faint note of suspicion in her voice remained.

"Yes, all popular accounts state that Sirius Black was imprisoned for betraying my parents. But when I asked Lord Greengrass for more information, his sources found out that Sirius Black was never given a trial."

"Well that can't be right," muttered Amelia, bafflement clear in her face.

"I'm sure it's nothing, but I would appreciate it if you could clear up this misunderstanding. I want to know what happened to my parents for sure," he said quietly before gesturing to the fireplace.

"I apologize for keeping you. Good evening, Madam Bones."

"Good evening," she replied before taking some Floo powder. Within seconds, they were alone in the study again. For a few seconds, there was only silence.

"No manipulation my arse," snorted Isabela as she stood and prepared to leave the study.

"Mea culpa," muttered Daniel as he returned the wards to their original state before following his wife out of the study.

He remained for a few moments longer, trying to think through the first major play that he had made since finding himself in this universe. He had managed to make an impression - if a slightly suspicious one - on the Head of Law Enforcement, which would help greatly if he played things right.

_And hopefully, one great mystery surrounding the Potters will be cleared up if Sirius Black get his trial_ he thought as he too left the study. There was work to be done.

* * *

><p><strong>A few days later<strong>

Harry felt himself being propelled through emerald flames, and landed, stumbling only slightly, into a cheerfully decorated office. He regarded the Floo as a marginally less uncomfortable means of transport, but only slightly.

_I suppose that's the price to pay for near instant transportation_ he thought wryly as he regained his center of balance.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I'm very glad indeed that you're still amongst the living," came the familiar voice of Professor Flitwick, and he turned left to find that the diminutive professor hadn't even glanced up from the book he was reading. He stepped aside just as the flames roared up again and Daphne passed through.

"You could tell it was me without looking up from the book Professor?" he asked with some confusion. Flitwick set the book he was reading aside, before looking up with a raised eyebrow.

"Why do you think we ask students to adhere to a specific time to use the Floo Mr. Potter?"

He had the grace to look sheepish, the answer suddenly becoming obvious to him. Flitwick chuckled, but didn't press the issue further.

"Well, I trust your holidays were pleasant?"

"Apart from the assassination attempt on Harry, it was a lovely time Professor," replied Daphne with some amusement as she used her wand to clean her robes of ash and soot.

"Actually, Professor," he began, casting a significant look at Daphne. It was an idea they'd discussed over the Christmas holidays, when it became clear that his progress would have to be accelerated.

"We were wondering, since you're a former dueling champion, whether you could help me train my skills."

Flitwick looked startled by the proposal. Daphne pressed on with the case quickly, determined to make the point.

"It's not just because of the Ministry incident. We've come to realize that Harry is bound to be in danger constantly because of his er...status in the Wizarding world. So the best thing to do would be to train him."

As Daphne finished speaking, Flitwick looked contemplatively, as if he were thinking through the proposal further. They waited for a few minutes as the diminutive professor remained deep in thought.

"Very well," he said finally, "I shall provide you with the required training."

He smiled at Daphne, glad that he had predicted the outcome correctly. Flitwick was always a very sensible man, and they had made a good case.

"But only if you agree to three conditions."

The smile grew a little less confident now. What conditions would Flitwick want to set?

"First, I will require written permission from your guardian, who is Lord Greengrass if I understand correctly."

He nodded; that wouldn't be an issue. Daniel and Isabela had both been part of the discussion about his training. He could write to them with Daphne's owl immediately.

"Secondly, you will have to share some knowledge of your current..._capabilities_. I cannot teach you unless I know what you are already competent of."

He gave his assent again. This was inevitable, given the curiosity Flitwick had exhibited about his powers earlier. It would also help Flitwick train him better, as the professor has said. He would share whatever was necessary for the training to occur.

"Thirdly, I will not merely teach you offensive and defensive spells. I will be speaking to Professor McGonagall as well, and you will learn at an accelerated pace from her."

He sighed. He had been waiting for the catch, and now he had it. He would be lying if he said that he had been applying himself fully to the first year course. If he was being honest, he would say he wasn't even working at half the capacity his mind was capable of. But he had been using the spare time to read esoteric books that he would likely never encounter in the Hogwarts syllabus.

_Oh well, all things at a price_ he shrugged internally before nodding his assent a third time. He was curious, however, as to why only Transfiguration received this special attention. He kept silent,knowing the question would be answered in due course. For now, he was rather eager to return to the Ravenclaw tower, which he had come to regard as one of his homes.

"I'll summon you once I receive the written permission from Lord Greengrass. Though I don't think it will take too long," dismissed Professor Flitwick, scuttling back to his table, no doubt eager to return to what he was reading. They took the hint and left his study, ready to settle back into the castle.

* * *

><p>Most of the Christmas decorations still adorned the hallways of Hogwarts, though students who had stayed back claimed that the Great Hall had looked exquisite, though it had to be changed back after the holidays were over. He himself was glad that he had missed the time when enchanted sets of armor apparently walked around the castle, singing Christmas carols in metallic whines. Noise blocking charms had apparently become something of a rage with the students who had stayed, with senior students even charging money from the juniors for casting the charm.<p>

Ravenclaw Tower was still wreathed with silver and green decorations, though modestly so. Older students took full advantage of mistletoe that hung around the Common Room, sometimes even conjuring it up themselves. The younger students were thoroughly scarred, and many swore off romance forever. He snickered at the thought that many would never remember that promise in a few years' time.

Snape was particularly vicious to students he met in the corridors or in the Great Hall, as if eking out his revenge on the world that forced him to endure days of good cheer and merriment. He was reminded forcibly of creatures that avoided all that was good like the plague. Beelzebub would get along quite well with Snape, he mused. Perhaps he would one day get to introduce the powerful demon to the surly potions master. Daniel had filled him on the very suspicious past that Snape had, and he could not help but be wary of the man now.

He had indeed slacked off, but he hadn't acquired the reputation of being a genius at his old school for nothing. He could afford to give himself a few breaks once in a while, especially with the level the first year syllabus was at.

Draco had been the first to return after them, rushing to them as they ate lunch at the Great Hall. Many students had looked curious at seeing the Malfoy scion lose his usual poise.

"I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, "My family pulled me away before I could even check on you."

"Relax, Draco. I understand," he replied calmly, "In fact, it would have turned out far worse if you'd checked on me in that political nightmare."

"The son of a 'suspected' Death Eater showing concern for the defeater of Lord Voldemort," said Daphne, giving one of her rare public smiles, "I can just imagine the headlines now."

Draco had subsided after that, though there were traces of unease in his demeanor for a while after that. He himself regarded that instant as proof of where Draco stood - and it was certainly not as a spy of some sort. Concern that genuine required a far better actor than what Draco was capable of. Yet. Most nobles seemed to master acting at some point in their life.

Christmas had not treated Draco kindly, it seemed. His father, while pleased with his progress in his studies as well as some of the connections he had made, had heard from the Nott family of his association with the Boy-Who-Lived. Draco had only convinced his father to drop the subject after he had played off the relationship as one of potential political convenience.

The next to return was Padma, who had entered the Common Room in the evening. By now, the common room had returned to its usual level of population, with most of the students back from their holidays. Some were already worrying over classes, which were due to resume the following day. She had written to him after the Ministry incident, and there hadn't been enough days left in the holiday to justify tiring an owl over, after he had replied that all was well. In the letter she had also thanked him for his gift of books on Oriental forms of magic, something they hadn't gotten the chance to talk about during the Ball.

"Padma!" Daphne had exclaimed, having grown very fond of the girl as the months had passed.

"Harry, it's good to see all is well in person," Padma had smiled before she left to unpack - there was not much time left before dinner. Daphne had followed behind, no doubt intending to talk to Padma while she helped her unpack.

"Padma! Why wouldn't you wait for me?" came a whiny voice he recognized all too well. Sure enough, Terry trudged up the steps to the Common Room, looking harried, as if he had been trampled up.

"Oh, Harry, did you see Padma?"

"She just left to unpack her belongings," he replied bemusedly, waiting patiently for Terry to explain the state of his appearance.

"We arrived through the Floo around the same time," explained Terry, "But on our way here, Snape trapped me and started lecturing me about not wearing my school robes. The man is mental! Mental I tell you!

That was not an assessment he could bring himself to disagree with - not when Snape had frightened two first year Gryffindors into tears for having "extremely wind-ruffled hair."

"Anyway, when I finally got away from him, she was gone!"

"You expected her to brave Snape's wrath with you?" he asked with amusement lacing his tone.

"Well, yeah! I would have done it for her," groused Terry as he grumpily flung himself onto a couch.

"Oh really?"

"Well, I would have stood out of sight and waited at least."

"I'm sure you would have."

"Shut up."

He stopped then, chuckling slightly as he returned to his book. He was still uncomfortable with anything beyond brief dialogues, some of the openness he had developed in Gekkoukan High fading away as he was thrust into a relatively unknown environment. But then he remembered a question he'd had for a while.

"What happened after we were escorted out? Daniel could only find out what his reporters managed to dig up, but that was too little."

"I can understand why nobody wants to talk about what happened," snorted Terry, "After you left, the crowd began to draw their wands to show their protest. That was when Lady Bones cast a Sonorous charm."

"What did she say?" he asked curiously, wondering what words could exist to stop a group of panicked, self-entitled people who were used to getting their way always.

"She ordered every Auror in the room to draw their memories of the event and give them to her," Terry howled with laughter near the end, confusing him slightly.

"How did that change their minds?"

"That didn't. But the unspoken rule between politics and the media is that if there are enough copies of something, one or more will inevitably leak out."

"Ah."

Now he understood. Amelia had played on the fear every politician possessed - The threat of their public image being tarnished. And Lords of Magical Britain attacking its own law enforcement would end any credibility they possessed. He was impressed.

_I suppose I was lucky enough to meet her at a time when she was off-balance_ he mused, glad that he had not first encountered Amelia Bones in her prime. He would, however, prepare himself for their inevitable future encounters.

"So they all calmed down really quickly after that. Some even offered to help the Aurors guard the exits. Others went back to their bottles of booze while the Aurors investigated," snorted Terry.

"Oh, Terry, I see you made it back in one piece," came a level voice, and Terry sprang up to confront it.

"Traitor!" he exclaimed as Padma returned to the Common Room.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she rolled her eyes before sitting on a nearby couch. She was followed by Daphne, who also sat with them.

"Finished unpacking already?" he asked her.

"I just unpacked the essentials. The rest I can take care of after dinner or tomorrow," she replied, "What were you two talking about?"

"The aftermath of his exit," muttered Terry as he sat back down, though he still glared at her half-heartedly.

"Oh yes. That was fun. Father and mother enjoyed watching the purebloods act like panicked schoolchildren. They usually look down on us because of our race. It was especially amusing watching the Nott family attempt to bribe an Auror to let them out," smiled Padma, as if reliving a very pleasant memory in her mind.

"I'm glad the attempt on my life provided you with entertainment in some form," he responded dryly, though he knew better than to take her seriously. Hers had been the first received and most hastily written letter he had received after the attempt.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly, with acerbic and witty remarks thrown about casually and plentifully. They had indeed missed each other.

* * *

><p>"Hagrid, why is there a three-headed dog in Hogwarts?"<p>

In retrospect, he could have chosen a better time to spring the question on the gamekeeper. While they had all agreed that Hagrid would reveal the most information if suddenly taken off guard, he could have done it when Hagrid wasn't carrying a potful of boiling tea.

The kettle crashed to the ground as Hagrid looked up as if he were a deer caught in the headlights. Luckily, it was metal and did not break, though most of the tea had already poured out.

"Wha-How do firs' years be knowing summat like that, eh? Didn' Profess'r Dumbledore tell you not to be snooping round things that don't concern ye?"

"It was just a rumor floating around Hogwarts. We didn't know for sure. Not till now anyway," this was Draco chipping in. It was also a consensus that Draco was the most likely candidate to compound Hagrid's shock with some anger.

_We're getting too good at this manipulation game_ he thought idly as he watched Hagrid swell up with indignation.

"Nobody has any bus'ness talking about Fluffy or the other protections around the stone! Profess'r Dumbledore told em not to!"

"What stone?" chipped in Ron.

"You call a three-headed dog Fluffy?" deadpanned Daphne.

Hagrid looked even more panic-stricken now, his hands kneading the apron he always wore a clear sign of how stressed he was.

"Nothin'. I didn't say nothin'. And stop snoopin' around you lot! What happens between Profess'r Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel is none of yer business."

He looked at Hagrid, who seemed to be near his breaking point, before nodding subtly at Ron. They had enough material to be working with. Padma had an unusual talent for research that surpassed his, and he had no doubt that she would find what they were looking for within a few days.

"So, Hagrid, did you know I visited Charlie in Romania? He took me to the dragon reserve he worked in. It was amazing! The dragons were all huge! And they fed them live prey, and one dragon just roasted an entire live sheep before eating it!"

In a second, Hagrid had transformed from an angry, panicked form to one of complete excitement and adoration. This was their exit strategy - to distract Hagrid with the one greatest passion that he held in his heart. A passion which, in their defense, had been the reason a three-headed dog had almost eaten them.

He was genuinely happy to see that Hagrid ceased to worry about the matter. He had grown to like the gentle gameskeeper, and felt more than a little guilty about orchestrating this whole event.

_Well, at least Ron has some great stories to tell him_ he thought fondly as he watched Hagrid ply Ron with questions. Ron was just as eager to respond, for he was greatly excited about the experiences he'd had on his travels.

They excused themselves half an hour later, once they'd filled themselves with Hagrid' excellent tea and practiced their vanishing charms on the rock cakes surreptitiously. Ron was glowing from the experience, and had almost forgotten that he had started the conversation with Hagrid as a diversion.

"Nicholas Flamel...I wonder who that is," mused Padma as they walked back up the snake-like path leading to the castle.

"I feel like I've seen the name somewhere before," frowned Ron, his face scrunched in an effort to work through the recesses of his memory.

"How could _you_ have heard of it when Padma hasn't? You don't even read!" exclaimed Draco incredulously.

"Because it wasn't a book," was Ron's preoccupied reply. The redhead was trying so hard to remember that he didn't even seem to register the implied insult Draco had sent his way. Or perhaps he was just used to it by now. They had certainly continued insulting each other long enough.

"Odd," chimed in Padma speculatively, "Where do Ron Weasley's interests overlap with a name that doesn't seem to be in the conventional books?"

It was a good question indeed, one he did not have the answer for yet. But he was certain the answer would reveal itself. After all, some of the brightest minds at Hogwarts would be looking into it.

* * *

><p>A shadow emerged from the back of Hagrid's cabin, looking at the students walking back to the castle pensively. His glowed red for a moment as his master acknowledged what had just transpired. It had been simplicity itself to cast a mild compulsion charm on the half-breed that the old fool Dumbledore kept as a gameskeeper.<p>

It had also taken finesse to ensure that the giant only spilled a moderate amount of information. Had he been too open with the secrets, the Potter brat would no doubt have suspected something. But then, he had always been gifted with all things relating to influence, like conjuration or charms. It was why he was so good with trolls. Their tiny minds were only too easy to manipulate, and the half-giant was not so much more difficult.

_Enough of your foolish mental crowing. The plan has been set in motion, and you will keep an eye on them at all times. Now, go to the Forest. We need more unicorn blood_ whispered the voice in his mind.

"Yes, master," he muttered before walking swiftly but quietly into the forest. The centaurs were proving to be a pestilence, and he now had to take great precautions when he hunted. But it would all come to fruition soon. Soon, his master would return to his former glory, and he would stand above all else in the regime his master would create. Many would sooner die than taint their souls by killing a creature as pure as a unicorn. Why would he let that stop him, when he never intended to die?

* * *

><p>"I give up," groaned Padma as her dishevelled face emerged from a staggering large pile of books, "It's like looking for a needle in a haystack. Wizards don't have information repositories like dictionaries or a list of famous personalities. Well, there are some, like the dozens of books about you, but that's because the printing press was only recently integrated into wizarding society."<p>

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, not faring any better with his own stack of books. They could not ask any of the authoritative figures without risking suspicion being cast on them. They could not ask Daniel, not when they still did not know if the unknown hostile force at Hogwarts could intercept their letters. This left them no option but to try and find a needle in a haystack. Frankly, he felt the literal act of finding the needle would probably be easier than what they were attempting.

"At least you guys are good at this kinda stuff. What'm I even doing here?" Ron muttered groggily, his eyes bloodshot and his hair tousled. They had pulled in a few more pairs of eyes when it was clear that he and Padma were making little progress. Daphne was perusing the bookshelves, trying to find more books to add to their pile.

"You're all too loud. Shhhhh," snickered Terry as if in a drunken daze, half asleep as he lay face down on the table, not even attempt to read anymore.

"I'm a powerful pureblood. And I demand that I not be made to read these dusty, stupid old books anymore," declared Draco, just as sleepily, though he managed to stay sitting up. Madam Pince had looked at them suspiciously for some time, no doubt wondering why first years were working so hard, before sniffing in disdain and walking back to her table ("Old bat," Ron had muttered)

"That's it. I can't handle this any more. I'm hungry!" snarled Ron as he pulled his book bag to him.

"Weasley is going to eat his words. Literally," snickered Draco, no doubt thinking that Ron was hungry enough to start eating his assignments.

"You won't be laughing when I refuse to share...this chocolate frog!" Ron exclaimed, pulling out the popular wizarding sweet. Draco looked too tired to argue the point, and settled for going back to slouching.

"Let's see here," muttered Ron as he opened the chocolate frog wrapper slowly, looking around furtively to make sure Madam Pince wasn't around.

"Lucky, this one can't jump around," he muttered as he stuffed the entire frog in his mouth before continuing to root around the wrapper.

"Damn. I got Morgana again. I already have like tw-"

Suddenly, Ron's eyes turned alarming wide and he started gesticulating wildly at the wrapper, his face turning purple.

"He's choking on the chocolate frog!" exclaimed Terry, pounding Ron enthusiastically on the back.

"Well he did eat the whole frog in one go," observed Padma.

Ron was shaking his head in the negative frantically, and kept pointing to the card of Morgana. He felt excitement bubble in his stomach when he realized what Ron was referring to.

"Ron," he began slowly, "Are you trying to say that you've come across Nicholas Flamel in a chocolate frog collectible card?"

The atmosphere grew eerily quiet, save for Ron enthusiastically nodding, even as he tried desperately to finish eating the chocolate.

* * *

><p>"Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of Dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel."<p>

"Well I'll be damned. Ron found the information," deadpanned Draco in an attempt to lighten the mood. It did not work.

Padma was currently in a very deep depressive spiral, at the thought that Ron had succeeded where she couldn't. He himself blamed the restraint he had shown in not buying many Wizarding sweets. He had a bit of a sweet tooth, and had been holding back no discernible reason he could think of.

"I'm not going to hold back on sweets any more," he mused out loud, receiving four incredulous looks in return.

"_That's _your takeaway from what just happened?" asked Terry incredulously. He shrugged in reply.

"We got the information. That is the important part."

"I suppose so," Padma replied morosely, "Well, we know he's an alchemist. We know Hagrid mentioned a stone of some sort. So that really only leaves one answer."

"The Philosopher's Stone," Draco said reverentially. Almost no one knows anything about the Flamels, where they live, or where they keep it. Until now, at least."

"It's a trap," Daphne said in sudden realization, "Dumbledore is actually try to lure Voldemort out of hiding by placing the stone at Hogwarts."

"Is he mental?" demanded Terry, "He's luring Voldemort into a school full of children!"

He frowned, thinking about the implications of a Philosopher's stone. Not for the immortality, he wasn't too concerned with that. Especially not when he had Death itself residing within his mind.

"There's too little information we have to form any conclusions about this. I see only one thing we can do," he announced out loud.

"You don't think he's-"

"I think he is," replied Daphne wearily as Terry began to phrase a question.

"What?" asked Ron confusedly.

"He's going after the stone himself to make sure his enemy doesn't get it," replied Daphne resignedly.

"Are you crazy? We couldn't even make it past the ruddy dog," exclaimed Ron.

He looked at them seriously, "This time, I'll go in with a plan."

"_You'll_ go in? I don't think so. I'll be watching your back," said Daphne determinedly.

"And you'll need someone clever on this suicide venture," chimed in Padma.

"LIke you can get through traps without some cunning on your side," scoffed Draco.

"And I was the one who figured this whole thing out," said Ron proudly.

He looked at them with amused exasperation, knowing they would say something along those lines. But how could he ask them to walk into such a dangerous situation? He had his unique abilities, and while his friends were quite good for their age, they could certainly not stand up to a Dark Lord.

"Fine, but if I tell you to go back after a point, you go back. No arguing," he said firmly, steel lacing his tone as it did when he got used to being a team leader.

There was no argument. He felt his more battle-loving personas stir within his mind. Hopefully there wouldn't be too much spilled blood when this was all over.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry it took longer than my usual schedule. But I think you'll agree my previous schedule was pretty insane 6k+ words chapters every few days. But I'll try not to be so tardy in future.**

**Next chapter is going to get back into action, in case it wasn't clear. I was very unhappy with the canon Quirrell confrontation. Harry burned his face off with the power of love? Jesus. Sounds like a line from a meme. I'll be doing things differently.**

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**Until next time,**

**SK.**


	12. Chapter 11 - Spectre

**Stiiiill looking for a beta/cowriter :P **

**I think I can safely say that 90-95% of my chapter is error-free, language wise. But if you want a perfect chapter with no mistakes, volunteer to be a beta and see to it that it is.**

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Stupefy!"<strong>_

He inclined his head gracefully, moving it just enough to avoid the red beam of light that raced towards him. This was one of the first things Flitwick had taught him as a duelist.

"You expend too much time and energy while dodging one spell. Wizarding duels are all about speed. Any worthwhile opponent would hit you with a second spell while you're still in the motion of dodging his first."

It had proved to be a valuable lesson. He had barely sprung away from the first tickling charm when the second hit him right in the abdomen. Flitwick was a monster when it came to speed, casting alone what it took five of his friends to do together.

Ironically, he was failing to dodge because he had gotten too used to the powerful attacks like Maragidyne or Magarudyne. Those spells took a while to cast, and could only be dodged by springing far away. Once cast, it took the opponent a while to resume attacking, which meant he had plenty of time to finish dodging and launch his own offense.

Wizarding spells seemed to require dodging he normally reserved for close quarters combat with his sword. Once he had visualized the scenario, he became to use his reflexes better.

"Most spells are designed to strike a specific point and act from that point," explained Flitwick, "So it doesn't matter whether you dodge them by an inch or a mile, as long as you do dodge them. Then there are spells like the full body bind, depending on how much power you put in them, it can strike a single point in your body, or even immobilize several people at once. For such spells, use a shield."

"_**Wingardium Leviosa!"**_squeaked Flitwick, flicking his wand in the direction of the ceiling.

"Shield," he muttered, and a glittering silver shield grew around him. He could feel Professor Flitwick's magic strike his shield, trying to get past it, but his magic held firm.

"Well done, Harry," said Professor Flitwick excitedly, "I'm still amazed that you don't need the incantations or wand movements. There are sixth years who probably kill you out of jealousy."

"Only if Padma doesn't kill me first, Professor," he replied with amusement. Funnily enough, it was his ability to cast wandlessly and wordlessly that irritated Padma, and not his ability to summon entities of unimaginable power. She had sworn to reach the same level of proficiency before the Fourth Year. He had no doubt that she would do. And she would probably streamline it while she did it.

"As impressive as it is, it'll be a long time before you can use it in any kind of a full-fledged duel," continued Flitwick.

"What do you mean, Professor?" he asked, confused. He had always been of the opinion that it would give him an advantage, not a disadvantage.

"Well, it'll certainly help you get in the first few shots in terms of speed, but think about if you're against an experienced duelist. What would happen if you had to cast more than a few spells?"

He frowned, trying to think through the scenario. He found that he couldn't. He had always relied on his opening barrage of attacks to get him through a fight. It was what he had done with Fluffy (the name still made his disbelief arise), and with his would-be assassin.

"I see you can't answer. Why don't we have a practical demonstration? I may be out of the dueling circuit, but I should make an adequate opponent," said Professor Flitwick cheerfully, readying his wind.

"Modesty doesn't suit you professor. You've been smearing me across the floor for days now. I'm sure you'll find blood if you cracked one of your floor stones open," he muttered as he readied for what would undoubtedly be a hectic round of fighting.

"No need to be so dramatic Harry," replied Flitwick cheerfully, "I'll even let you go first!"

_Sadistic little goblin_ he thought to himself as he readied his wand.

First, he pushed, sending a powerful wave of magic towards the charms professor, making sure it covered a wide area. Then he moved his wand in the direction of a pile of tables and chairs nearby and threw the furniture across the room, not even waiting to see if his first spell connected.

Flitwick slashed through his first spell gracefully, sending a vertical wave of force tearing through the magic, and towards him. Even as he stepped out of the way of the attack, Flitwick slashed his wand downwards, forcing the furniture to stop mid-air and fall to the ground so hard they splintered.

Immediately he flicked his wand again, visualizing the broken pieces of furniture flitting towards the professor with deadly speed, like dozens of projectiles. Then he had to shuffle out of the way hastily as Professor Flitwick shot a stunner at him, and then redirected his projectiles once again, making them clatter harmlessly off the stone wall.

_Shit! And he's not even trying_ he swore internally. He now began to realize what Flitwick meant by the speed of his mind. Already his mind seemed to be freezing, set on the kind of force moves he had used earlier. It didn't help that his mind kept shouting abilities his Personas had, as Flitwick had asked him not to use those powers when he trained.

"Done already, Harry?" asked Professor Flitwick, twirling his wand idly.

He scowled - a rare display of emotion on his part - before aiming his wand at Flitwick once more.

"**Burn!**" he thundered, and torrents of blazing hot fire emerged out of his wand, enveloping the other side so completely that he couldn't see anything on the other side of the room.

He barely had the time to register the drain this spell was causing on his energy, before the waves of fire were torn apart, and he felt himself lose control over the spell. The fire washed against the walls and ebbed away, even as two purple flashes of light hit him, one on the knee and the other straight into his wand arm. He collapsed as he lost control over the muscles that had been struck, flailing on the ground helplessly as he tried to regain control.

"Impressive, I didn't think you could overpower an _Incendio_ to that extent," Professor Flitwick remarked clinically as he undid the spells he had cast on him.

He rose again, wincing at the sensation of blood rushing through the deprived muscles again, "I wasn't thinking about an _Incendio._ I was thinking about fire."

"There's the problem you have. Your mind can't focus on strategy, defense and still have enough left to visualize attacks for you."

He nodded, agreeing with the assessment. His concentration had wavered greatly, slowing down his ability to cast spells successively. When he fought with Personas, he only had to provide the raw power. His Personas would do the rest. But now, now he also had to channel it, and that made it a new and difficult experience for him.

"Nevertheless, excellent progress today," said Professor Flitwick, "And don't worry. With practice will come a point where you can duel like you do now. It's how most powerful wizards do it, including Professor Dumbledore."

"And you, sir?" he asked snidely, knowing Flitwick held on to a sense of modesty for some reason.

"And I as well," deadpanned Flitwick, refusing to acknowledge his mischief, "But always remember, dueling is about strategy and deception. If you begin a duel by casting verbally, you lure your opponent into a sense of false security. Begin by casting non verbally and you'll put them on guard for the rest of the duel."

_This man really needs to stop making so much sense_ he thought bemusedly. He had always been used to fighting silently for the most part, as there was no reason behind shouting aloud in combat. But in this world, combat went by different rules. He would learn them first, and then break them.

"Well then, that should be enough for today. By our next session, I want to see five new incantations in your arsenal."

"Slavedriver," he muttered as he began to head towards the door. They had bonded greatly over their training sessions, to the point where Flitwick had begun to call him "Harry" and he treated Flitwick with more familiarity than he would any other teacher.

Seconds after he left the door, someone pulled him sharply by his right arm. Instinctively he reached for his magic, ready to turn it upon whoev-

"Ron? What did you do that for?" he asked, annoyed, as his magic subsided. Ron would have gotten seriously hurt had he not assessed a potential threat so quickly.

"Harry! Terry got kidnapped!" hissed Ron as his eyes darted around the corridor in a frightened manner, checking to see that no one was listening.

His eyes grew cold. The enemy had made the first move, something he hadn't expected.

"Tell me more," he said quietly.

"Professor Quirrell walked in when we were in an empty classroom. He shot spells at all of us, but when I woke up, Terry was gone! Now come on!" yelled Ron hysterically, pulling him into a running pace.

_Quirrell? The man was some actor, I thought he was completely incompetent. Idiot! It was clearly a front_ he berated himself as the duo careened through the corridors at a wild pace, drawing many curious stares.

A cold pit formed in his stomach at the thought of one of his friends dying, before it was washed away by the torrent of rage that surged through him. His battle-loving personas howled and screamed within his mind, knowing they would soon be let loose.

"Thank God you're here!" cried out Padma when they reached the abandoned classroom, "Daphne and Draco are still unconscious! Ron and I woke up a few minutes ago, but I haven't even been able to revive them with the _Rennervate_ spell!"

He swore as he considered the scenario Quirrell had orchestrated.

"He planned this, down to every last detail," he said in a hollow voice, and Ron looked confused.

"He hit you two with mild spells," he began, gesturing to Ron and Padma, "But Daphne and Draco with more dangerous spells."

"Oh," breathed Padma, comprehension entering her face, "He knows two of us will have to take Daphne and Draco to the Hospital Wing and then fetch the teachers."

"Which leaves me to go after him. Alone."

He wasn't worried about the confrontation, no. But Daphne and Draco were turning a sickly pale color, their breathing already becoming labored. A small part of his mind was glad that his friends couldn't go with him, despite their declarations to accompany him. He would never have forgiven himself if one of them had died.

"Go. Take them to the hospital. Then go to Flitwick. He'll convince the other Heads and Dumbledore," he commanded in a steely tone, falling all too easy into the role of the leader.

"But Harry-" began Padma.

"No. They need your help, and Quirrell clearly wants me alone," he cut across her sentence. Then a frighteningly cold smile appeared on his face.

"He should be careful what he wishes for."

* * *

><p>The three headed beast was sleeping when he opened the door, and a harp strummed itself musically near the beast. He was not surprised that Quirrell knew how to subdue the cerberus, magical beasts were something of his area of expertise after all. He strode forward fearlessly, determined to reach the end of this...obstacle course, for lack of a better word, as soon as possible.<p>

But he had scarcely taken a few steps, when the harp suddenly stopped playing.

_Shit! Some kind of motion detecting magic._

Already the beast was beginning to stand, its three heads moving drowsily as it tried to comprehend its surroundings.

He aimed his wand at the Cerberus.

"_**Garula!**_" he thundered, and was shocked when a gust of wind many times stronger than what he had expected hurled itself against the Cerberus, sending it flying to the stone wall so hard that the wall cracked, and the beast fell, unconscious.

"Interesting. My wand can amplify the persona attacks I use too," he muttered dispassionately as he opened the trap door and prepared to jump through it.

_I doubt that was enough to kill it, but I owe Hagrid an apology for injuring it_ he thought to himself before plummeting through a dark space.

His fall was broken unceremoniously by what felt like damp roots. He winced and moved slightly, only for the roots to tighten around him some more. He froze.

_The next puzzle. Sentient plant. It clearly responds to motion._

He moved his left hand again, just to test his theory. Sure enough, the roots grew ever more constrictive, now making it a little hard for him to breathe.

_Right, it's the Devil's Snare. It responds to motion, so take its stimulus away from it._

He forced himself to be absolutely still, even as the roots coiled around him, pulling his ever deeper.

_Here's hoping Sprout knows what she's talking about_ he thought wryly as he took a deep breath, just before the roots enveloped his face as well. He was not unduly worried. If the plant didn't drop him soon, he would just burn it away.

Sure enough, he soon fell through the plant barrier to the floor, wincing as his elbow hit the stone floor jarringly.

_This is getting to be really annoying. Was Dumbledore insane? The average thief could waltz right through this!_ he thought angrily. He could understand Dumbledore's desire to draw out Voldemort, but was there really no other way? Unless…

_Oh._

Dumbledore _wanted_ to get him involved with Voldemort. Or at the very least, he set up the necessary conditions that _could_ lead to him getting involved. But to what end? To see if the events from thirteen years ago would repeat themselves?

He shrugged the thought away as he encountered yet another door. This was no time to hypothesize. But he would have many questions to ask Dumbledore when this was over and Terry was safe.

A heavy buzzing sound greeted him when he opened the door, as if a thousand bees were trapped in it. He was not far off the mark, however, when he saw what appeared to be hundreds of keys with wings. The keys were of varying colors, sizes and shapes. At the other end stood a door that thrummed with magical energy, as opposed to the flimsy magic on the very first door.

_This is Professor Flitwick's magic_ he realized as he moved closer to the door. He had been on the receiving end of Flitwick's hexes enough times to recognize the distinct signature his magic held.

It was clear that this was not a door he could force open without expending a considerable portion of his powers, and he needed his reservoir when facing Quirrell. That left him with only one option, which was in the form of a broomstick that was floating near the door.

"Great. Flying."

He was never truly comfortable in the air, preferring to be on the ground and in control of more variables than he could be if he were flying.

_No. It wouldn't look good if I made it to Quirrell and I was still motion sick_ he decided and drew on his powers. One of his minor summons wouldn't take too much energy now. And this one could do with some menial labor.

"**Pixie**" he summonded, and it answered, materializing in a shimmer of blue light.

"**Great. You call me to fetch you a key,"** sniffed the tiny persona before looking at the horde of keys that hovered near the ceiling, "**You figure out which one it is yet?**"

"No, but look for the one that's less pristine than the rest. Only the real one is likely to have been used before."

"**Well aren't we smart**," mocked the sarcastic persona even as it flew near the keys and began to inspect them. He waited patiently as the pixie flitted from key to key, looking for any telltale signs of use.

"**That one!**" it cried out and lunged towards a key before bringing it to him. As it drew closer, he realized it was right. The wings on this particular key looked crushed, as if some had roughly grabbed it before.

"Nice job," he complimented, accepting the key and dispelling the summon before it could make another wise-ass remark.

He had to stop and blink when he realized what occupied the next room. A chess board. A giant chess board. Of all the- a giant chess board with life-like pieces. This was, without a doubt, McGonagall's work. The woman was fascinated with chess. One of the few objects of value in her otherwise spartan office quarters was one of the very first sentient chess sets to ever be created.

Even as he watched, one of the white bishops moved away from the board, leaving one spot empty. Clearly he was meant to take its place.

_If I leave this trap intact, it might slow down Quirrell if he tries to escape_ he reasoned before taking the place of the white bishops. This would not take too long.

"Pawn to E4" he called out, and one of the white pawns moved to the corresponding location, its size giving the movement an ominous look.

Silently a pawn from the other side moved, reaching E5. He almost felt like snickering. Enchanting the chess pieces to have some level of sentience apparently had a cost - no human chess player would have fallen into the trap so easily.

"Queen to H6," he commanded, and his queen rumbled through the floor to the indicated location, looking deadly as it towered over the other pieces.

Now the other side brought out its Knight, moving it to C6 on the board.

"Bishop to C4," he called out, even as he walked slowly through the large chess tiles to his destination. It felt exhilarating, being part of a fight that was so controlled and turn-based. Real fights were usually a free-for-all. Perhaps he would ask Professor McGonagall how to enchant his own gigantic chess set.

The opponent moved again, this time directing its Knight to F6.

_And you just lost_ he thought idly as he contemplated his next move, making sure he had it right.

"Queen to F7!" he finally exclaimed, and the Queen thundered towards the pawn that occupied the tile it was supposed to take, before clobbering the pawn so hard that the pawn was completely dismantled. Now the queen took the place of the fallen pawn, before rotating silently to face the black King.

He waited in anticipation to see if the rules would truly be followed. Then the Black King allowed its sword to fall to the ground heavily, and the black pieces moved away from their place on the board. The other side was now clear.

_How many more little puzzles, Dumbledore?_ snapped an irritated voice in his mind.

The next room's challenge had been dealt with already, he realized, as he found an enormous troll - far larger than the ones Titan had killed - knocked out on the ground. Clearly Quirrell did not consider it to be enough of a challenge to leave standing. He trod lightly, not wishing to tempt his sometimes astonishingly bad luck by treading heavily. Fortunately, the troll remained unconscious.

A towering wall of fire now blocked his path in the next room. But by now, he'd had enough. His friend was in danger.

"**Sati!"** he intoned. She emerged out of flame, and encased in flame. In giving herself to fire completely, she gained its absolute respect. Flame and fire would never refuse the bidding of this beautiful goddess.

"I require passage," he said calmly, indicating the wall of flame. Sati merely nodded silently before raising an elegant hand and pointing in the direction of the fire. Immediately the fire submitted to her will, ebbing away until only fumes remained.

He released the summon. Five months ago, summoning Sati would have rendered him unconscious. But now, it merely ate away at a portion of his energy - a sizeable portion, however. Hopefully, he had enough left to hold Quirrell at bay.

He steeled himself, sensing strong magic in the next room. The real fight was about to begin.

* * *

><p>"How good of you to join us, Mr. Potter," hissed a smooth voice as he entered the final room. The room was very dimly lit, and he could very vaguely make out what appeared to be the silhouette of a large mirror.<p>

Suddenly, the wall of fire he had crossed roared to life once more, and the room was cast into an eerie mix of flickering light and writhing shadows. He was reminded forcibly of a "boss dungeon" as SEES came to call them. Clearly major confrontations were meant to happen in esoteric locations.

He walked forward slowly, now able to see Quirrell, who was looking at the mirror, and by extension, him through the reflection. The turbaned professor didn't even seem concerned to see him there, and made no move to go on the offensive. Perhaps it was the confidence that he would not attack first. Not when Quirrell had his wand pointed at Terry's prone form. He schooled his face, showing no visible emotion, though he was greatly worried about Terry. Thankfully, the boy seemed to be breathing at the very least, taking labored, shallow breaths.

"That was a well executed plan to get me to come here alone," he commented casually. _Show no agitation or fear._

"Yes, I was rather pleased with it," replied Quirrell just as easily. There was no traces of the stuttering, frightened man that he had seen throughout the year. He was quite chagrined that he wasn't able to see through the facade. His perception was one of the few things he prided himself on.

"It takes talent to break into Gringotts. I can't imagine the goblins are very pleased with you," he continued as he gathered his magic.

"Like I care what those disgusting little creatures think," sneered Quirrell, a scowl and a look of disgust fighting for dominance over his face.

_Right. Wizarding superiority complex_ whispered his snide inner voice.

"Why did you lure me here? Clearly you're capable of reaching this point on your own. You could simply have taken the stone and vanished."

This was actually a question that he wanted answered. Quirrell had needlessly endangered a mission that he could otherwise have completed successfully. Perhaps he did not consider a eleven-year-old to be a significant threat.

"Two reasons. It will work out much better if we have a scapegoat to take the blame. And it would be a delicious twist of irony if the scapegoat was also the _wizarding savior_," smiled Quirrell. It was an unpleasant smile. The scorn when he said the words 'wizarding savior' was almost tangible.

"And the second?" he asked as he cast a discreet _**Dia**_at Terry. The minor healing spell was all he dared use at present, as he had a feeling he would need most of his energy for the fight.

"My master wanted to meet you, face-to-face."

"Unless he's very small and lurking in the shadows, you're the only person I can see here," he replied sarcastically, trying to bait Quirrell into anger.

"Enough!" snapped Quirrell, "I'll not have a filthy half-blood like you scorning my master!"

"_Let me speak to the boy,"_ rasped a feeble voice, and immediately Quirrell's face became one of subservience.

"Master, you do not have the strength at the moment. Allow me to kill the brat!"

"_I have strength enough...for this."_

He watched with morbid fascination as Quirrell began to unravel his turban. Once the turban was off, the man turned his back to him. He was shocked that Quirrell would so easily turn his back on a potential enemy. The first spell was already at his lips when sheer shock stopped him dead in his tracks.

A second head was worming its way out of the back of Quirrell's skull. The skin stretched in an abominal fashion, before flowing into a rough approximation of a human face. Two narrow eyes gazed at him, and a cruel smile played on the lips of the face.

"Voldemort," he breathed, feeling a strange sensation go through him at the sight of the ma-thing that had killed Harry Potter's - no, _his_ parents.

Thanatos howled in his mind, no doubt in his war-like Persona.

**MASTER. THAT **_**THING**_** IS AN ABOMINATION. SUMMON ME. LET ME TEAR HIS TAINTED SOUL APART.**

He winced slightly at the mental tirade. It took a lot to anger the normally stoic personification of Death, but he could see why Thanatos would be angry. Whatever means Voldemort had used to survive his death thirteen years ago, it had tainted his very soul. And Death did not like being cheated.

_I don't have nearly enough energy to summon Thanatos_ he agonized. He would not die, no. How could he, when Death lived within him? But he would be as good as lifeless for several days, and he had to stop the Philosopher's Stone from falling into the hands of an enemy. Thanatos would have to wait for retribution.

"_Harry Potter...the Boy-Who-Lived. The boy who vanquished me, Lord Voldemort," _rasped the voice and then laughed, harshly.

"_It is good that you at least show potential, boy. I would have been furious if the one who defeated me ended up being...sub-par_."

"Yeah, I can see how defeat at the hands of the sub-par could be awkward when you're supposed to be an invulnerable dark lord," he conversed agreeable, "However, I think the humiliation of being defeated by a mere baby will still scar your reputation, no?"

The face scowled for an instant, before laughing harshly once more.

"_Insulting me to ensure I become angry and lose focus. Clever, Potter. But you forget, I am the heir of Slytherin himself."_

"Well, what now, Voldemort?" he snapped, impatient with how slowly things seemed to be proceeding. It was looking to be more of a parlor discussion and less of a confrontation, "Quirrell has no chance against me, I promise you."

"_I am well aware of Quirrell's incompetence."_

"Master?"

"_Which is why I am doing this."_

Quirrell abruptly fell to his knees, screaming as the face seemed to _change_ it's location, superimposing itself on Quirrell's face. The screams the man sent out were heart-rending, and echoed in the stone chamber, a thousand times amplified.

"**Incendio!" **he thundered, taking advantage of the enemy's weakness to send a torrential gush of flames towards his opponent. Immediately he threw up a shield, remembering how the previous time had left him unable to see an incoming attack.

Soon, the flames ebbed away, to reveal a pulsating red shield that had enveloped Quirrell. The shield crackled away to reveal a slightly burnt and smoking man, though he had escaped the worst of the fire.

"_This body will not last me long,"_ said Voldemort casually, for it was clear that Voldemort had somehow taken over Quirrell's body completely_, "But I only need it to last until I get the Philosopher's Stone. Before that, however, __**flagellum de igne!**__"_

A fiery whip cracked into existence as Voldemort held his wand like a conductor's baton, and then _whipped_ it.

His shield was shattered into a thousand pieces, and the whip still kept coming at him, forcing him to dodge it repeatedly.

Voldemort cackled with insane glee as he kept brandishing the whip, allowing him no respite at all.

He let out a sharp cry of pain as the whip fastened around his left ankle. His flesh began to cauterize as the whip dug in with an angry hiss. He gathered as much magic as he could and slammed it into the whip, trying to overpower the magic that held it together. Fortunately, the whip dispersed, leaving only the smell of burnt flesh behind.

_Damn it, I really didn't want to reveal my Persona abilities. But since I have to…_

"Voldemort," he intoned solemnly, deepening his voice with magic. His eyes shone an unearhtly green and a faint silver aura of power began to surround him.

"Magnificent," breathed Voldemort as he beheld the display of power, "A pity you cannot join my ranks."

"Death is displeased with you, Voldemort," he continued in slow, deep tones as the silver aura grew thicker and heavier, "And He wants to speak to you."

A faint look of fear entered Voldemort's face,.

"Death has no dominion over me," sneered the red-eyed man.

He merely smiled in return, before raising a finger and pointing to his left.

_Thanatos might be beyond my reach, but..._

"Tell him yourself."

**A world heading towards Death.**

A pale horse pawed the ground impatiently with a spectral hoof, turning its scarlet eyes in Voldemort's direction.

**A world steeped in Death.**

A robe fluttered gently in the air, looking as if it had been weaved out of darkness itself. A thin, deadly blade curved along a wooden haft, gleaming oddly in the firelight.

**And yet thy soul is desecrated. Mutilated.**

Skeleton hands grasped the horse's reins, even as a frightening skull gazed at Quirrell's mutilated body.

**Pathetic worm, writhing in the mud of mortality.**

Voldemort's face was now distorted with pure fear.

"_**Ignis Hastam!"**_ he cried out, and spears of fire threw themselves against the spectral figure with deadly force. They struck an invisible barrier and fizzled out, useless.

"_**Titulum Lapideum!"**_ roared Voldemort, desperation now beginning to assert itself.

Stoned thundered and drew themselves out of the floor, fusing seamlessly together to form a deadly battering ram. Voldemort slashed his wand once more, and the pillar fell on the spectre with enough force to crush a car.

The scythe flashed once, and the pillar was torn apart, falling harmlessly on either side.

**I am the Pale Rider. And I herald the coming of Death.**

Now the Pale Rider pointed its scythe at Voldemort. Tendrils of darkness spun together at the tip of the scythe, and a dark power thrummed in the room.

"NO! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT! _**Protego Maxima!**_"

Again the red shield rose around him, sending pulsating tendrils of rage through itself as Voldemort's fear and anger grew to a new level.

**Mudoon.**

Intoned the rider simply. The effect was palpable. The very stone on the floor began to get eaten away from the sheer force of the darkness that enveloped Voldemort. The intensity grew even further, and culminated in a tremendous blast of power that nearly threw him off his feet.

He winced and sank to one knee as the cost of the powerful attack took its toll. When it was done, Quirrell's body was seen, battered and bloody beyond all recognition, as if warriors had hacked away at it for days.

" !" came a strong, concerned cry, and he turned around to find Flitwick, Snape and McGonagall staring at him, wide-eyed.

_Why do they always make it in time to see my summons?_ he moaned internally, knowing that more questions would be raised than ever. Snape looked particularly frightened at having seen the Pale Rider, his skin having gone a sickly pale color. Well, even more sickly pale than normal.

"Professor," he spoke light-heartedly, wanting to put this whole sorry affair behind him, "I didn't faint at the end this time. That should count as progress, right?"

Flitwick broke into a relieved grin, confident that his student would not be making jokes were he seriously injured.

An unearthly wail ripped through the chamber as a ghostly entity rose out of Quirrell's mangled corpse and raced away from the chamber, passing forcefully through his body as it did so. He felt it _steal_ some of his energy as it passed, throwing him off his feet and onto the stone floor painfully.

_Damn it!_ was the last phrase to pass through his mind as the world around him flickered and warped, and let him to blissful unawareness once more.

* * *

><p><strong>Hospital Wing<strong>

A hazy sea of colors flowed through his field of vision.

Blink.

So much brown. Why was the brown twinkling? What were those long streak of dark color that kept moving up and down?

Blink.

Oh. They were eyes. Brown eyes swam slowly into focus. Eyes filled with purpose. Eyes looking determined as they had a goa-

"Urgh! Umpf! Brgh!"

Clarity returned with a speed that sent waves of pain coursing through his body. Madam Pomfrey had just forced a phial of potion down his throat, and was looking down with a satisfied expression as his now alert eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings.

"Is this your way of punishing me for turning up here so often?" he eventually spat out, feeling the inside of his mouth coated with a foul layer of the potion.

"Now now, Mr. Potter, why on earth would I punish you?" shot back Madam Pomfrey merrily, "I run a business here, and you my boy are a repeat customer."

"Is it a requirement for all nurses to have a sadistic streak?" he shot back grumpily.

He really thought he would stay conscious this time. He had certainly been conscious in the aftermath of the battle. But noooooo, Voldemort just had to have the last laugh.

_Oh well, he didn't get a chance to revive himself. I'd say this still counts as a win_ spoke the sensible portion of his brain.

"A requirement? No. An advantage? Most certainly," was the matron's parting repertoire as she walked back into her cabin.

_Great. Now she got the last laugh too._

All was quiet for a few minutes, and he allowed the serenity to wash over him. He treasured companionship above all else, but he still enjoyed those rare moments when it was just himself and his thoughts. And a thousand chattering entities in his soul, but he preferred not to think of that.

"Ah, Harry. I'm relieved to see you're awake."

"Professor Dumbledore," he greeted neutrally, turning to face the old headmaster as he swept quietly into the Hospital Wing. The man was an enigma still, for he could tell that Dumbledore was genuinely happy to see him awake. And yet, this was the same man who had set a trap for a dark lord in a castle full of children.

The headmaster sat down softly, sadness now battling with happiness for dominance in his blue eyes. He looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. And perhaps it was.

"Your reaction tells me you are far from pleased with me, Harry. I take it you've reached the conclusion that I was baiting Tom?"

"Tom?" he asked, confused.

"Tom Riddle. Although these days he prefers the moniker of Lord Voldemort."

The old man sighed, casting a glance at Madam Pomfrey's office. It occurred to him that Dumbledore was actually wary of the strict matron. The thought amused him greatly.

"I understood your decision to bait him, sir. It was sound strategy. But you did it in a school full of children - Children you're sworn to protect."

"Yes, I did," nodded Dumbledore, "You see, whether it is true or not, Hogwarts has a reputation of being the only stronghold that is safer than Gringotts. Gringotts cannot, by policy, assist anyone in laying a trap. That meant I had to move the Stone to Hogwarts. Had it been too secure, Tom would never have found it. It had to be a place where Tom could believe there was no trap, and yet a place that his mind would turn to when the Gringotts vault turned up empty."

He nodded slowly. The train of thought made sense. That was why Hagrid had been sent to retrieve the stone. It would be hard to miss the well-known Dumbledore loyalist. And Gringotts had been robbed the same day as the retrieval. It helped that Quirrell had later been asked to help with the protection of the stone.

"That does not explain the enormous risk, Professor," he replied firmly. He wanted all the details, not half-truths.

"Tom would not have attacked any of the students, m'boy. Insane though he might be, he was and remains a highly intelligent individual. Attacking any student at Hogwarts would have forced the Ministry to launch a full investigation. I was reasonably confident that Tom would want to remain anonymous, at least until he built his power base. He has lost all the power he garnered in his previous regime."

"And?" he prompted, knowing there was more. One thing he was reasonably sure of now was that Dumbledore laid complicated plots, with many layers. The mirror in the last chamber had proved as much. Quirrell had stayed, which meant the stone wasn't yet in his possession.

"And the portraits, ghosts and armors of Hogwarts are completely beholden to the Headmaster. I was following Quirrell's every move, and would have stepped in immediately had he tried to endanger any of the students."

"You were nowhere to be seen when Quirrell attacked my friends today," he pointed out, a harsh edge in his voice. Dumbledore bowed his head.

"I admit to miscalculating there. I was expecting Tom to make his move closer to the end of the term, so Quirrell's disappearance would not cause alarm. My theory is that he was reaching the end of his strength, even with all the unicorn blood he had been consuming. That is what forced him to make his move so early. I owe your friends a great apology, Harry, but I assure you they are now hale and hearty, and very anxious about you."

He kept silent. As much as he hated to admit it, he could not blame Dumbledore. It was so similar to his strategies on the battlefield. He would never deliberately place his friends in a position of danger, but no battle went according to plan, and he had to make his fair share of hard decisions.

Dumbledore smiled at him sadly, "I wanted you to hold on to your childhood so badly Harry. I did not want the events of your past to define you, at least not yet."

"Holding on implies I once had a childhood, headmaster. My loving relatives decided I was not worthy of such a privilege."

Dumbledore's head bowed even lower, and his frame seemed to sag. He felt a powerful wave of sympathy wash over him, despite the injustice that the headmaster had wrought on him.

"Don't grieve for what never was, sir. As the saying goes, when life gives you lemons…"

"You make lemonade?"

"No, you take a shot of the strongest liquor you can find, and then bite into the lemon."

Dumbledore gave a watery chuckle, his eyes resuming their bright twinkle.

"An unusual twist to the phrase, m'boy."

"It was a very unusual monk who told me that saying."

"Will you forgive me, Harry? I would like to start afresh with you."

He surveyed the headmaster for a moment. He was not capable of holding a grudge, not unless the sin committed against him was cardinal, like the killing of someone close to him. He held out his hand.

"No more deception, sir."

If Dumbledore could not make that promise, he did not deserve a second chance.

"No more deception, Harry."

They shook hands and settled into a comfortable silence. He could not help but notice that Dumbledore's hands edged steadily towards a pile of sweets that occupied his bedside table. He snorted, too many people had a sweet tooth in these parts.

"HEADMASTER! What are you doing with my patient?"

At least he was in no danger of being bored in the infirmary any time soon.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm rather pleased with this chapter. Yes, I know parts of the "boss fight" resembled A Demon Among Devils. It was a style I wanted to try out, and it turned out reasonably well. Rest assured, every major fight will be different, so I won't be using the same style with future fights.<strong>

**Diehard persona fans will recognize the first two lines the Pale Rider speaks as being from one of the Persona games. I just wanted to pay homage to that game.**

**The bit with the lemon and the alcohol? I don't know, it just always seemed like something Mutatsu would say. Philosophy wrapped up in a drinking metaphor :P That I just wrote in for plain fun. Don't like it? Tough.**

**Many of you did not believe me when I said this would not be a story with bashing. I hope the final part of this chapter has put to rest some doubts. I want to highlight the mistakes of each character. But I won't hang them with those mistakes. Resolution is a big part of the philosophy that went into the character development of the Persona games. I will be making it a big part of this story as well.**

**Review, review and review some more. I'm quite sad that my last chapter didn't get more reviews. Hopefully this one will make up for it.**

**Till next time.**

**SK.**


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